


Rising Tides

by WalkerLister



Series: Rising Tides [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Human Doctor (Doctor Who), Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, So do I, Suicidal Thoughts, lightly inspired by Adult Life Skills, reference to past domestic abuse of a side character, thasmin, that's why i wrote this because i cannot go to cornwall right now so yaz will have to do it for me, yaz needs a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 211,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkerLister/pseuds/WalkerLister
Summary: Yasmin Khan is holidaying in the village of Kennock Cove, Cornwall, taking a break after a missed promotion at work and a breakup. When a stupid joke about a summer fling spirals into a massive crush on the fascinating Joanne Smith, will the two women be swept up in the rising tide of their affection for each other, or will past events and circumstances leave them stranded on separate shores?
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: Rising Tides [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027018
Comments: 718
Kudos: 257





	1. Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to 'Rising Tides'! This story is planned, and I have written a large amount of it, and plan to update every Thursday. I have posted the first two chapters at once in order to really establish the story and its setting and characters.

The sound of the taxi door closing behind her rings like a bell to Yaz, but what it is signalling she does not know. The turning over of a new leaf, perhaps? Or maybe the death knell of her life as she has known it up until this point? She sighs, breathing in air tinged with salt and the whisper of nearby flowers, so different from the polluted and smoggy air which has permeated most of her memories of Sheffield, her home.

“It’s so quiet.” She mutters to herself, looking up at her new home for the summer as the taxi drives away, leaving her on her own.

The cottage is chocolate box cliché, barring the fact that, instead of being constructed from traditional thatch, the roof is made up of Cornish slate. Cobbled stone walls inlaid with sash windows, and a duck egg blue door with a golden knocker welcome her, calling her in to what must undoubtedly be a cosy interior. A wisteria climbs up one side of the cottage, hugging the wall tightly. It must be that which Yaz can smell. 

A seagull caws overhead as Yaz fumbles for the key in her jacket pocket, and she looks up at the sky to spot the creature, before her gaze travels down from a blue sky tinged with the beginnings of sunset to the ocean which spans in front of her, waves catching the light of the sun as they crest, looking like shards of stained glass. The cottage directly overlooks the ocean from its vantage point above the village in which it is situated, and Yaz can make out the tops of similar cottages from her place on the doorstep. Her cottage is a lone inhabitant of this level of the cliff.

The harbour and beach of the small village of Kennock Cove are also visible, sprawled out in front of her, looking so picturesque it could be a small model town, each building and each inhabitant carefully constructed into an idealistic fantasy. Yaz can see a few shops, and a jetty by which a few boats are beached, waiting patiently for the tide to sweep them up into its current. The golden sand of the beach calls Yaz to go down and dig her feet into its grainy texture. A small patio with table and chairs sits at the front of the house, in the perfect position for admiring the view.

Dragging her suitcase behind her as she frees the key from her pocket, putting it to the lock and twisting it to hear a satisfyingly solid _clunk_ as the door unlocks. Yaz pushes the door open, with a slight creak from the wood, and drags herself and her bag inside, body weary from hours on a train and then the taxi ride.

The cottage holds that musty smell which comes from a house being unoccupied for weeks. Months, probably, seeing as Bill had offered Yaz the place for the summer, seemingly having no need for it. Bill, an old friend from university, had inherited the cottage from her parents when they had died, but she had confessed to Yaz she did not use it very much, Cornwall so far away from Sheffield. But she had pushed Yaz into accepting the key for the summer, and so here she is, on a late June evening, entering the place which will become her home for the next few weeks.

She has never been to Cornwall before, let alone to this cottage with which she will become so familial, but Yaz tells herself this is supposed to be new, an adventure, a getaway from a life which had gradually become a tedious chore. Adventure is all she has ever wanted, and all she had felt she was no longer getting in her life in Sheffield, and this cottage, and the holiday it symbolises, should be a time to allow her to seek out that adventure again, and to get her head sorted. She truly hopes she can get her head on straight.

Yaz takes in the hallway which stretches out in front of her, a staircase to her right leading to the upstairs. The walls are painted white, absorbing the light, and making the space seem bigger. The white theme continues throughout the cottage, in the lounge which sits in the front of the house, overlooking the beach and the ocean, to the kitchen diner, a more modern renovation, which sits at the back. It is a contemporary twist which still retains cottage-like cosiness. Dragging her suitcase upstairs, Yaz surveys the landing, a still pristine white affair. Three doors greet her, and she picks one at random, coming upon a bathroom. Making her way to the next door, she is greeted with a bedroom.

“Wow.” She remarks.

An oak four-poster bed sits enclosed by sky blue walls, one inset with a fireplace. The crisp sheets of the bed call to Yaz, and the weariness from having spent hours travelling is enough to almost make her flump onto the bed there and then. But then her gaze travels to the window, and Yaz’s suitcase falls from her grip as she strides towards it, all thoughts of the bed gone.

“Incredible.” She whispers.

She forgets the tentative feeling of being a new place, all alone, and instead becomes raptured by the view which spans out in front of her. The horizon stretches, seemingly for eternity, as if there is no limit to how far the sea reaches, and it calms Yaz, to see such vastness, and yet such calm waters. It is meditative, and she does not know how long she stands there, staring out at the sea, but the sun hitting her eyes as it begins to descend from its lofty position in the sky, signalling the oncoming sunset, forces her to move away.

She sighs, shoving her suitcase into a corner to unpack later and shrugs off her backpack, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Her ears rings slightly with the silence that pervades the house. Just beyond the window, she can faintly make out the sound of waves hitting the earth.

“Yeah, this will be nice.” She says. Silence greets her. She bites her lip. Time to call Bill.

Pulling out her phone, Yaz meanders her way back down the stairs as she waits for Bill to answer her call. She has reached the kitchen by the time her friend answers.

“Yaz! You got there alright?” Bill asks.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me how nice this place was Bill!” Yaz says as she opens the refrigerator. Empty.

“Oh yeah my parents did it up proper swanky.” Bill replies. “Perhaps a bit too swanky. Don’t worry ’bout it if you accidentally get something on the white walls, it will just give me an excuse to paint them.”

Yaz laughs. “Well it’s very nice. And more than enough for me.”

“Well you make the most of it, Yaz, seriously.” Bill says. “I’ve let you borrow it for a reason, yeah?”

Yaz sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“Chill out, take some time for yourself. Don’t think about work. Don’t think about _anything._ The village is really nice, I think you’ll love it.”

“It seems a bit quiet for me.” Yaz jokes half-heartedly.

“Yeah, and hopefully it’ll let you unwind!” Bill insists. “Go with the rhythm of the village, explore things you might not have done if you were still a big ball of stress like you were back home! You might find someone! Have a summer fling to get over your ex!”

“I don’t need to get over Clara, Bill, _I_ dumped _her_!” Yaz protests, and she hears Bill sigh.

“Alright, alright, I just think it would do you good to release some pent up…” She trails off.

“Yes?” Yaz says, raising her eyebrows.

“… Stress. Release some pent-up stress!” Bill replies, sounding bashful. She sighs again, and her worry is so palpable Yaz can almost feel it through the phoneline. “Look, mate, I just want the best for you, and I really think this holiday will do you some good, but only if you’re willing to let yourself go a bit.”

Yaz bites her lip, feeling guilty. Bill has always been so kind and considerate, and now, when Yaz is in dire straits, she has come through once again, offering Yaz the cottage for the summer, recognising her friend’s dilemma and doing her best to help her.

“Look, I’ll be down in a few weeks, and if you haven’t had any action by then, we’ll go to the nearest night club and find someone!” Bill says, and Yaz laughs, although she is not sure whether Bill is joking or not. She meanders through the kitchen and into the hall again, heading to the lounge so that she can look over the marvellous view once again, and remind herself of the beauty of the place she is in, remind herself of what Bill is trying to do for her.

“They have night clubs this far west?” Yaz jokes as she peers out at the approaching sunset. The view calls to her, and she heads for the front door, wanting to witness her first sunset in Cornwall without a glass barrier. Maybe that is what she needs to do both mentally and spiritually, too. Break through a glass barrier, move past it to find the beauty beyond.

A cool wind picks up her hair and it flies into her face as Bill chuckles on the other end of the line. “Mate, it’s Cornwall, not the outback. Yes, they have nightclubs. And hot women.”

“Oh, _please_ drop it!” Yaz sighs as she pads across the patioed seating area and onto the small lawn until she stops at the stone wall which marks the cottage’s garden boundary.

“Hot surfer women who look _really_ good in a wetsuit-”

“I am going to hang up on you!” Yaz says, leaning against the wall. The village sprawls out down below, and Yaz can see a few figures meandering down from the harbour and onto the beach. “Clara was never the problem. That I managed. It was work that was beginning to spiral out of control.”

Years of service, a promotion which should have been hers sweeping right past her, one too many cases in which Yaz began to doubt whether humanity had any worth at all, and she feels burned out, her insides hollowed out and charred. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why her relationship with Clara had, too, turned to ashes; Yaz felt no fizzling excitement and burning desire for Clara, not in the end, and they came apart, crumbling. Yaz had been so burned out from her career that she could not find her way back to her love for Clara. Something else which had slipped through her fingers.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you need to have some fun. You _deserve_ to let yourself have some fun.” Bill says, and Yaz can hear her taking a breath at the other end of the line, and so she waits for her to speak again. “…And I’m not just talking a summer fling here, Yaz. I mean overall, just let yourself have fun. Sounds cliché but live a little, mate.”

“Yeah, I will.” Yaz strolls along the lawn, tracing its bumpy stone texture with a finger. She stops, and at this new vantage point the village and beach is laid out in front of her, with the sea brushing the earth gently with its caress. The setting sun catching at the glass fronts of shops and the windows. “Thanks Bill. I love you, ya know?”

“Ew, gross.” Bill says, and Yaz rolls her eyes. Her friend laughs. “I heard that eye roll. And mate? Love ya, too.” There is a sound on the other end of the line. “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, no worries.” Yaz says. “Speak later, Bill.”

She disconnects the line, letting out a long sigh as she slips her mobile into her pocket, content to watch the sunset and allow her mind to go blank for a moment. Maybe relaxing and allowing herself to enjoy life for what feels like the first time in years will be easier than she thought. Perhaps this strange new place will become a comforting zenith. Or perhaps the beauty of the sunset is making her sentimental.

She lets her gaze sweep over the beach once again, and her eye is suddenly caught by a lone figure, stood in the shallows.

It is a woman, and the blonde hair must have been what captured Yaz’s attention, for it seems to almost glow in the sunlight, as if it has captured each ray and is retaining the light for itself. Yaz blinks. Where had that thought come from?

The woman is still, and, from what Yaz can see from her lofty view, she has her arms crossed, watching the sunset unwaveringly. Yaz herself is so caught up in watching the woman that she misses the moment the sun dips below the horizon, and is only alerted to the night’s entrance when the woman seems to disappear into the shadows which welcome the evening into night.

Yaz blinks a few times, coming back to herself. She looks up at the sky, the faint orange glow the sun’s lingering legacy, suddenly realising that she has missed the sun’s disappearing act. She glances down at the beach again, but she cannot make out the woman now. She drags her gaze upwards again, sighing.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” She mutters.

The image of blonde hair glowing like spun gold twisting its way into Yaz’s mind, and Bill’s words seem to ring in her ears: ‘ _have a summer fling!’_ Yaz shakes herself, tutting.

“Yep. Definitely getting sentimental.”

Yaz allows the sounds of the waves to wash over her and drown the buzzing of Bill’s words from her ears. She does not do that kind of thing. She is not the type of person to have a meaningless fling with someone which is over as soon as it has begun. The long journey has made her tired, and the beauty of this place, both new and unfamiliar, and yet so comfortingly reassuring, has brought on a romantic haze which preys on her exhaustion. Blonde hair belonging to a stranger will not linger in her mind, and she unties the knots those golden threads have made and shuts out the aching loneliness which pounds at her heart.

Yaz is not lonely, and she most certainly has not been since she left Clara. She does not need anyone. In fact, if anything, she needs a break _from_ people.

That is what she tells herself.

She sighs.

“I really hope there’s a pizza place nearby.” She says, and she strides back into the cottage without another glance back at the beach to see if the whispers of blonde hair can still be seen.


	2. Jo

The next morning gives Yaz the chance to bring out her shorts for the first time, and she feels slightly self-conscious as she makes her way down the long winding path from her cottage and to the village below. She has not shown off her legs in ages, and she is aware she might get some stares from locals as they realise a new person is inhabiting their area. She might pass off as one of tourists, Yaz can already see a number, their heads bobbing in the late morning sun as they take a swim, or some of them fiddling with massive backpacks on their backs as they stride out on a walk along the coastline.

By the time Yaz has descended from her clifftop prominence, she has to manage only a small slope down into the village, and she gazes around her as small cottages, similar to her own, all in traditional Cornish stone, begin to envelop her in their embrace. A car honks and she moves to the edge of the road to let the vehicle move past her. There is one main road into the village and no pavement, and so Yaz keeps close to the side to avoid any more blaring horns.

She can smell donuts, and her mouth instinctively waters. She has not had breakfast and is planning on finding somewhere to eat before she figures out where she can get groceries from. She has already made her way past one small café, with tables and chairs outside, when something catches her eye, and she stops herself before she trips on the uneven pavement.

It is the woman with the glinting blonde hair.

She has her back to Yaz and seems to be talking to a small crowd of people, her arms and hands flying animatedly through the air. They are stood in front of a small shop, its frontage painted in a deep blue. The sign above the door reads ‘Tardis Books’. Yaz’s interest is peaked. The people are smiling at what she is saying, and Yaz watches, curiously, as she woman gestures and begins to lead them away, heading out of the village and up the incline that Yaz has just descended. She glances briefly in Yaz’s direction, then, but her gaze is obscured by a pair of sunglasses, which sit perched on her nose. Yaz instantly looks down, anyway, with the feeling of having been caught staring, and she can feel her cheeks burning.

“Oh, stop it.” She mutters to herself, and determinedly begins striding down into the village again.

The harbour opens out in front of her, and Yaz can really take in the wide expanse of the village of Kennock Cove, which seems to work in harmony with the sea which playfully nudges its harbour with its waves. Yaz can see, peering each way, that rows of buildings stretch out on either side of the road as it splits to envelop the harbour, with its slipway and small jetty jutting outwards, and the beach, which sits to her right, golden sand glinting.

Yaz heads towards the beach, eager to feel the sand under her toes. There are a few people already enjoying their day on the beach, some walking their dogs and some simply lounging lazily on towels, but it is not so overcrowded as to be unpleasant. Kennock Cove strikes her as the sort of place which only a small number of tourists’ flock to, whilst others chose to visit the closer and larger villages of Padstow or Tintagel.

Yaz smiles as she takes it all in, and when her feet first reach the sand she shucks her flip flops off and curls her toes into its grainy texture, letting out a long sigh and tipping her head back. She thinks she could definitely let herself relax here.

Her stomach protests her moment of stillness and after a few minutes of soaking up the sun Yaz is forced to move on to find an eatery. She idles her way along the beach, keeping close to where it touches the road, and the small pavement which sits along the harbour front. She only surrenders her walk along the sand, shoving her feet back into her flip flops when she reaches the slipway designed for boats, and the jetty which sits adjacent to it. She stops, curious, to read a sign which offers ‘Thrilling boat rides along the nearby coast’, and mentally files that away for a later date. No use in doing everything all at once. Yaz has to make this summer holiday last.

Beyond the jetty, she is interested to see a small wooden hut has been constructed, and outside of it, under a fabric gazebo, are rows of bikes of all sizes. A sign outside reads ‘Bike Hire’, and she mentally files that one away, too. Could come in handy.

A man exits the hut, having noticed Yaz stopping to look, and he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, seeming to appraise her with his dark eyes.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone slightly clipped, and Yaz frowns. He is wearing dress trousers in a deep purple and a crisp white shirt, and Yaz wonders he is not hot in the blazing heat of the summer sun.

She smiles a little. “Oh, I was just having a look. What length of time can you hire a bike out for?”

“Oh, as long as you like.” He says swaggering forwards. His dark hair, she can see, is slicked back with a gel. “For a price.”

His voice is like burnt caramel, smooth and yet tinged with something unpleasant. Yaz frowns, put off by his manner. She shrugs. “Do you have a price list?”

He looks at her for a second too long, before sighing and turning to head back into his hut. Yaz raises her eyebrows. All she wants is a leaflet. She is not asking him to construct her a bike from hand.

He returns, holding out the leaflet for her between his fore and middle finger. She takes it, a little more roughly than she might have done, and makes a point of immediately folding it and stowing it in her tote bag. “Thanks.”

“Yaz?” A voice suddenly says, and Yaz is relieved to be given the excuse to turn away from the strange man in front of her. She is confused by the sound of her name, but her confusion soon turns to delight as she takes in the man who had called it, stood looking at her from across the road.

“Ryan!”

Ryan Sinclair looks older than he had when she had last seen him, which must have been almost five years ago. They had been at school together, only parting ways for higher education in their late teens, but even after that, they had stayed in touch through texts and occasional phone calls. They were extremely close at school, so much so that rumours abounded about there being a romantic element to their relationship, which had only been put to bed when Yaz had made it very clear in her early twenties she was gay. They have drifted apart since, but Yaz still knows that were she to reach out, Ryan would drop everything for her, and vice versa. Having said that, she had not told him anything about her holiday to Kennock Cove, and so to see him stood in front of her, she can barely contain her joy.

“Oh my days, Yaz! It’s so good to see you!” Ryan says, pulling her into a tight hug the moment she has crossed the road to reach him. Yaz’s feet momentarily lift from the ground owing to the height difference between them, and she laughs, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, and lets him spin her in the air a little.

When Ryan finally releases her, he keeps his hands on his arms as he pushes her away, taking in her appearance. “You look great, mate!”

“And you! Look at your muscles!” Yaz says, placing her own hands on Ryan’s toned biceps.

“Yeah well, you know, gotta keep it up, ain’t I?” Ryan tries to play it cool but laughs when Yaz rolls her eyes.

“What are you-” She begins to ask but is interrupted by the sound of a cough.

Ryan jumps, releasing Yaz and stepping back to gesture to the person stood by his side. “Right, sorry! Yaz, this is Jack Harkness. He’s the head of the coastguard here.”

“That’s _Captain_ Jack Harkness.” The man says, with a cheeky grin, holding a hand out for Yaz to shake. She takes it, smiling at the tall, handsome man in front of her. He seems to carry an aura of suaveness, despite the loose uniform of shorts and t-shirt he wears, and he winks at her when she shakes his hand.

“Be careful, he’s a bit of a flirt.” Ryan warns her jokingly, and she laughs, and Jack puts his hands on his hips, looking mock offended.

“I’m never one to miss an opportunity.” He says.

“Sorry, not gonna work on this woman.” Yaz says lightly, and Jack catches onto her meaning quickly, nodding his head respectfully.

“I hear ya.”

“Mate, what you doing here?” Ryan asks.

“I’m on holiday.” Yaz explains. “I’m borrowing Bill’s cottage for the summer.”

“Oh! Bill Potts?” Ryan asks, and Yaz nods. “Yeah, I’d forgotten her parents had a cottage down here.”

“It’s hers now, her parents are dead.” Yaz explains, and Ryan makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, looking a little embarrassed.

“I didn’t know that.” He confesses, but Yaz shakes it off.

“I don’t matter. Why are you here?” She asks.

“My nan, she lives here now.” He explains. “I’m in between jobs at the moment, so I’m living with her for the moment. Hey, do you wanna grab a drink? Then maybe I could show you around?”

“I’d love that! And some food too!” Yaz exclaims. The thought of catching up with an old friend who is familiar with the area lightens the worry in her chest that she might accidently offend a villager by going somewhere or doing something she should not. She knows she is in good hands with Ryan.

“Hey, what happened to helping me clean the station boat?” Jack asks Ryan with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the building behind them. it is only then Yaz realises they are stood in front of a large white building, with a sign reading ‘Coastguard’ emblazoned across it. A large garage door is open, and inside Yaz can make out an orange boat, nose pointing right at them. 

Ryan tilts his head and gestures to Yaz. “I haven’t seen Yaz in years and you think I’m gonna help you clean your stinky boat?”

“Hey, my boat is _not stinky._ ” Jack says, and Yaz cannot tell whether he is genuinely offended or faking it, and also if he is aware he is bordering on a double entendre.

“Have it your way mate…” Ryan mutters under his breath, raising his eyebrows.

“Ah, go on then, you kids get out of here!” Jack says, cheeky grin back on his face. “I can do it myself.”

“Thanks, Jack! C’mon Yaz, I know where we can go for a really good smoothie!” Ryan takes her hand and pulls her away.

“Nice to meet you!” She calls back to Jack, who raises a hand in farewell.

They do not get very far, passing by a surf shop to reach the next building down from the coastguard station. A bold sign above the door says ‘Pond’s Pastries’ in gold lettering, looking striking against the mossy green colour in which the rest of the café frontage is painted. The moment they enter Yaz is hit with the smell of freshly baked pastries, a sweet and comforting smell which immediately makes her feel welcome, and also hungry. The interior is cosy, seating with cushions in many colours, hanging plants caress the walls, and art depicting scenes of the ocean and coast cover the place from ceiling to floor. There are a few people sat enjoying their refreshments, but it in no way feels crowded. In front of them directly as they walk in is the service counter, a large menu plastering the wall behind the glass display which presents many extremely tempting looking pastries, and stood behind it, smiling politely at Ryan, is a man with scruffy hair and a general demeanour of awkwardness, as if he does not know what to do with his limbs.

“Hi, Ryan.” He greets, and then he turns to Yaz. “Oh, hi, don’t think we’ve met.”

“Yasmin Khan.” She introduces herself with a small wave. “But Yaz is fine.”

He nods and gives her a polite close-lipped smile. “Hi. I’m Rory. Owner.”

“Co-owner!” A voice suddenly calls, and from around the corner a woman’s head suddenly appears, followed by the body, and some of the longest legs Yaz has ever seen. Her ginger hair sweeps behind her in a long ponytail as she comes to stand behind the counter next to Rory. “I own half of this place, Mr Pond.” She turns to Ryan, her piercing gaze travelling from him to Yaz, and her eyebrows raise. “Oh. Hello!”

“Amy this is Yaz,” Rory introduces her, and then points at the tall ginger woman by his side. “I’m Amy’s husband. We own the café.”

Ryan gestures at Yaz. “Yaz is here on holiday. I’ve known her since school, so I’m offering to give her a tour of the village. Starting here, of course.”

“Of course.” Amy winks at him, and then turns to Yaz with a smile, which Yaz returns with one of her own. Yaz is surprised to find such a strong Scottish accent this far south west, but she immediately likes Amy, and Rory. They seem to fit together like puzzle pieces; at first it does not make sense, but when you slot them together, the picture is complete.

“Well take a seat, I’ll come and take your order in a minute.” Amy says, and then her gaze is drawn behind them and she pulls a face. “Old man cabbage is going to start huffing if I don’t bring him his coffee…” She heads off behind the wall, to where there must be a kitchen, and Ryan leads Yaz to a table by the window, and Yaz has a stunning view of the beach and the sea beyond.

“Cabbage?” She asks, perplexed, as she pulls her seat in closer to the table.

“Babbage.” Ryan explains, taking his own seat. “Amy can be scathing at times. It’s kinda scary.”

Yaz laughs as she takes one of the menus placed on the table, stomach growling as she peruses the appealing offerings. 

* * *

“When my gran knows you’re here you’ll be round for dinner before you know it.” Ryan says a little while later, once Amy has come and gone to take their order.

“I’d be delighted. How is she? And… Graham, was it?” Yaz asks.

“Graham, yeah.” Ryan says. “They’re fine. Nan’s retired from nursing, and now she runs a bookshop-”

“Wait, ‘Tardis Books’?” Yaz cannot help but interrupt.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, frowning. “You know it?”

“No, I just walked past this morning and was curious. I was planning on going in after I’d explored the village.” She explains, and Ryan’s face brightens.

“I’ll come with ya, if you want?” He offers. He checks his watch. “Nan’s not working this afternoon, but Jo is.”

“Jo?” Yaz asks. Is this the woman she had seen?

“Yeah, she works for nan most days. She’s nice, just a bit… kooky.” Ryan says. Yaz nods, storing this information. She feels curious and also uncertain at the same time. What does ‘kooky’ mean, exactly?

“Oi, what did you just call my best friend?” Amy says, having heard what they were saying as she approaches the table with their order.

“Only explaining to Yaz Jo’s eccentricities.” Ryan says as Amy places their plates and drinks down on the table in front of them. She gives Ryan a light swot on the arm with her empty tray and then tucks the object under her arm.

“Jo isn’t eccentric she’s…”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“…Academic.” Amy finishes. Then she scrunches her face up, head titling to the side. “Nah, you’re right, she is eccentric. But that is not a bad thing, Sinclair, and don’t say it like it is!”

“I wasn’t!” Ryan defends himself, raising his hands in the air in surrender. Yaz, however, could tell from his tone that Ryan is not sure about this Jo woman, and that ‘kooky’ was meant as much as an insult as it was a compliment. “Besides, I were only saying how we’re going to the bookshop later.” He continues, and then gestures to Amy, saying to Yaz, “She’s got a published book there un’all.”

“Oh wow!” Yaz exclaims.

“I can only do autographs if you buy the book first.” Amy says with a mischievous smile.

“That’s really amazing.” Yaz says, genuinely impressed by the woman in front of her, who does not look that much older than Yaz. Owning a business and being a published writer? Yaz feels like she has barely achieved anything in comparison. The sting of her missed promotion flares up.

“Ah, it was just a few copies by a local publisher, I’m not going to be making the bestseller lists any time soon.” Amy waves away her compliment. “You here long, Yaz?”

“A couple of months. Most of the summer, basically.” She replies.

Amy’s face brightens. “It’ll be nice to have a new face around here! And a young one, at that. Lots of old people round here. Gets a bit too sedate for my liking.”

“Don’t let Graham here ya say that, he’ll get offended.” Ryan says around a mouthful of pastry.

“I think he’d be more offended you’re classing him as ‘old’, Ry.” Amy reasons. She turns to Yaz again. “You should join us Saturday night at the pub. Me, Rory, Ryan and a couple others. Just for a few drinks.”

“I will!” Yaz replies with relief. She had been worried about the long evenings she might have to spend on her own, being so used to both night shifts, and the comradery of her co-workers, she had often been out in the evenings, be it working or down the pub or club. Being offered the chance to socialise with people, and chase all thoughts about the future, which she feared she might have to confront, ruminating on her own in Bill’s cottage, is not something she will pass up.

“Great! Some nights there are pub quizzes, we could always do with another team member. We’re all pretty much useless!” Amy says.

“’Cept for Jo, she’s like a walking Wikipedia.” Ryan comments, and Amy laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Oh, so now you’re grateful for her eccentricities?” Amy retorts, poking his arm. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy!” And with a wink, she is gone.

“Seems like there’s a nice group of people who live here.” Yaz observes as she tucks into her food, a delicious pastry which crumbles in the mouth and leaves her desperate for the next bite.

Ryan nods. “We could have ended up in worse places.”

“What are you up to here, then? You work anywhere?” Yaz asks, taking a sip of her smoothie.

Ryan shrugs. “Part time at the surf shop. I wanted to teach surfing, but I can’t, not with me dyspraxia.” Yaz nods understandingly. “Sometimes I work for nan at the bookshop, if Jo’s got the day off and Nan isn’t feeling up to it. Otherwise, I help out around the village if anyone needs anythin’ fixing. Got to put my engineering degree to good use.” He jokes, and then he gestures behind him to outside the window. “Normally I’m down helping Oscar with his bikes.” He says with exasperation. He leans forwards, and Yaz smirks at the annoyance on his face. “The man’s a nightmare. He runs a bike hire company, but he doesn’t know how to keep them properly. I wouldn’t dare tell ‘im. Man thinks everyone else is the dirt under his boot.”

Yaz sniggers, glad she is not the only one who got a weird vibe from the man, Oscar, apparently. She longs to show him how very much not under his boot she is.

“If it’s not him it’s Graham and his minibus.” Ryan continues, shoving pastry in his mouth. “He runs a service for the villagers to the nearest town, seeing as the bus service around here is terrible. He don’t charge or anything

“That’s nice of him.” Yaz remarks.

“He’s retired, too. He had cancer a few years ago.” At Yaz’s shocked expression, he quickly goes on. “He’s in remission now, and he and nan moved down here to get a fresh start and all that, but I think he misses his old job as a bus driver, which is why he does it.”

“Well, I don’t think they could have picked anywhere nicer.” Yaz says, and Ryan smiles widely.

“Me neither.” He wipes his hands with a napkin and chucks it onto his empty plate. “You ready to explore it?”

“More than ready.” Yaz says and stuffs the rest of her own pastry into her mouth. 

* * *

Yaz’s feet are aching, but she is not bothered by it like she would be were it the end of a long shift. Instead, the ache is satisfying, an ode to a day well spent exploring a fascinating small village with one of her oldest friends. Ryan had been invaluable as he had led her through the streets, and Yaz fells much more grounded, and very welcome in the idyll Kennock Cove.

Late afternoon is calling by the time they are climbing the hill back towards the bookshop, and Yaz feels her stomach twist in anticipation. She is curious to meet this woman, Jo, to know whether she is the elusive blonde figure she has seen, Ryan’s description running through her mind as she wonders exactly what she will be like.

A small bell chimes as Ryan opens the door to the shop and Yaz has to blink rapidly as her eyes get used to the much darker light in the shop, as compared to the blazing sun outside. Once they do, her breath is taken away.

The bookshop is like something Yaz would expect to find in a fantasy novel, all dark interiors, bookshelves shoved to the brim with books, a cosy armchair in one corner, and in another, a small counter, behind which a woman sits. She looks up as they step in, smiling brightly when she spots Ryan.

“Hiya, Ryan!” She says, standing up. Yaz notices her close a book and place it on the counter.

“Jo, this is Yasmin Khan. We used to go to school together.” Ryan says, stepping out of the way to let Yaz step forward.

This is most certainly the blonde woman from before.

Jo is even more beautiful up close than she had been from afar. Her blonde hair shines in the dim light of the shop, just brushing her shoulders, and her eyes glint, seeming to shift between shades of brown and green, like a woodland on the cusp of autumn. She is smiling at Yaz, who suddenly becomes aware she may have been staring, and smiles back.

“Hi. Yaz is fine.” She tells the other woman, who nods.

“Joanne Smith. Jo, actually. I hate Joanne. It’s too long, isn’t it? Like your tongue isn’t expecting the rest of the name past ‘Jo’ and starts to get tired.” She says, and Yaz understands Ryan’s description, now. She seems eccentric, but very charming, her thick Yorkshire accent adding to her charisma. “You here on holiday?” She leans forward on the counter, looking up at Yaz past a curtain of hair.

“Yeah, just for the summer.” Yaz says, and awkwardly stuffs her hands into her pockets, not knowing what to do with them.

“Well, it’s good to have you here, welcome to Kennock Cove.” She says, waving her arms in the air and accidentally knocking over a plastic holder of leaflets on the desk next to her, and they all go fluttering the ground. “Oh, sorry. Clumsy, I am.”

She climbs over the counter, instead of walking around, which Yaz would have thought would have been easier. Her booted feet hit the wooden floorboards and she bends down to start collecting the leaflets, blue trousers rising up her legs to reveal pale skin. Yaz and Ryan come to her aid, and before long they have the leaflets collected in a small pile. Yaz reads the one on top.

“Oh! Your nan does tours does she Ryan?” She asks. The leaflet advertises tours on local history and folklore, two a week.

“Yeah, and Jo does.” Ryan says. Yaz nods. That is what Jo must have been doing this morning, when she was talking to the group of people. “Jo!” Ryan suddenly exclaims, and the woman jumps at the sound of her name. “You have a tour on Thursday, yes?”

“Mmmhmm.” She nods in confirmation, stuffing the leaflets back in their holder. She is wearing a big navy jumper, unsuited for the warm weather, Yaz absentmindedly notes, which is emblazoned with a rainbow stripe across the chest, and when she is finished fiddling with the leaflets she curls the ends of her sleeves into her hands.

“There any space for Yaz?” Ryan asks, and then catches himself. “That is, if you want to. Jo is great at the tours.”

“Sounds fantastic!” Yaz says truthfully.

“Err, yeah, should be!” Jo says, and she leans over the counter, reaching for something. Her jumper rises up, and Yaz cannot help but look at the small strip of pale skin that is exposed as she does so. Jo straightens, a logbook in hands, and looks down at the page in front of her. Her eyebrows raise, and a finger taps at the page. “Yes! There’s still a place if you want it? I won’t charge you!”

“Oh, it’s alright, I can pay if-” Yaz begins to say, but Ryan cuts her off.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it Yaz, nan wouldn’t want ya to.”

“Well, in that case…” She shrugs, and Jo nods, writing down Yaz’s name in her book.

“We meet here at eleven, and the tour lasts about two hours. Although, I’m prone to going on a bit, so it might be longer.” Jo warns her.

Yaz shakes her head, “It’s fine. I’m really curious to know more about the area.”

Ryan’s phone goes off then, and he excuses himself, stepping out of the shop and leaving the two women alone. Yaz curls her hands into the inner fabric of her pockets, trying not to desperately stare at the woman’s lower back as she bends over to replace the logbook, revealing that strip of pale skin once again. Yaz glances around at the bookshelves as she straightens up, desperately hoping the heat she can feel in her cheeks is not evident to Jo in the dim light of the shop.

“There’s loads of books on local history here, if you are interested.” Jo says, and she wanders to a nearby bookshelf, holding a hand out and gesturing at the books. “Or we have some on more general Cornish history. There’s a whole section on King Arthur, he’s very popular…”

“I met Amy down at the café, actually, and she said she had a published book?” Yaz says, and Jo’s face lights up.

“Yes! Amy’s is brilliant! She’s got a way with words.” She turns, finger trailing over the bookshelves until she finds what she is looking for, pulling it from the bookshelf with a triumphant flourish. “Here we are! It focuses on local folktales…”

She passes the book to Yaz, and she fumbles to release her hands from her pockets for a moment so she can take it. She looks down at the cover, which is printed with an old map of the area, the title ‘Kennock Cove’s Curious Folktales’ in bold font. She looks up at Jo. “I’ll take it.”

“Fab!” Jo navigates her way to the counter, electing to walk around it this time, and Yaz hands her the book so she can ring it up on the till. It looks strange when Jo pulls out a card machine, the modern technology clashing so strangely with the old world feel of the place.

“It’s like another world in here.” Yaz observes as she taps her card against the device.

“That it is!” Jo agrees. “You can get lost for hours in different world and stories. Forget about everything else and be transported.” She hands Yaz her receipt and the book, nicely wrapped in a paper bag.

“Sometimes I think you like it way too much in here, mate.” Ryan says lightly as he renters the shop with a chime of the bell, having heard what Jo was telling Yaz. Yaz expects a joking defence in reply, but Jo just nods slightly, pursing her lips together.

“Yaz, mate, I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go. Graham’s bus has broken down again.” He says bashfully.

“No, it’s okay.” Yaz assures him and holds up her purchase. “I’m gonna make a start on this book.”

“I’ll text ya later, yeah?” He says, and at Yaz’s nods he bids them farewell, saying a rushed goodbye to Jo, too. She gives him a close-lipped smile, resting her forearms on the counter as she watches him go.

Yaz hesitates awkwardly for a moment. With Ryan gone, and a book purchased, she is not sure whether she should stay longer or leave. She wants to stay, but she is not sure what to say, and she does not want to seem too overbearing. In the end, she turns to Jo and awkwardly says. “I’d better go. I’m sure you’re closing soon anyway.”

Jo nods, and she smiles. “It was nice to meet ya, Yaz.”

“Yes, you too.” Yaz says, stepping towards the door. “And I’ll see you Thursday.”

“I look forward to it.” Jo says and gives Yaz a short wave as the other woman leaves the shop, wincing slightly at the bright day light outside.

‘ _Yes,’_ Yaz thinks, ‘ _me too.’_

* * *

Yaz blinks and opens her eyes wide as she looks up from her book for the first time in hours, suddenly becoming aware of the dropping temperature and the impending sunset as she looks out over the balcony of her patio. She has been sat out here since she returned from the bookshop and has devoured Amy’s book in one sitting. It was genuinely fascinating, and well written. It makes Yaz anticipate Jo’s tour even more.

She stands, stretching out stiff muscles, and saunters over to the railing, peering down at the beach below absentmindedly. She jolts as she spots a familiar blonde figure on the beach below. Jo is stood where she was the night before, still in her clothes from earlier, and Yaz wonders whether she is hot in that jumper. Her stillness seems odd compared to the constant state of movement she had been in earlier, and Yaz watches her instead of the sunset, and she does not move, not once, her shoulder hunched, her arms curled into her body.

Only once the sun has disappeared behind the horizon does Jo move, and Yaz watches her until the dimming light makes it impossible to see her figure, as she makes her slow way up the beach and to the harbour. Yaz plays through their earlier interaction, and finds herself at a loss for anything bad

to say about the woman; the eccentricities and kookiness which Ryan had spoken of and had earlier laced her mind with apprehension seem to go hand in hand with a genuine kindness which suit her very well. Not to mention, as Yaz could not deny to herself, the woman is beautiful.

Bill’s words run through her mind, against her will, and Yaz sighs, tipping her head back.

“Stop it!” She mutters to herself. She is being ridiculous, and she tells herself that it is only because she has been reading tales of mystery and myth and romance that her brain is eve straying to this place, but she cannot get Jo’s kind eyes and blonde hair and the tone of her voice when she had spoken with such excitement about the books out of her mind. Yaz bites her lip.

It is no use in thinking about someone she barely knows with the idea of a summer fling in mind, when she finds the idea ridiculous in the first place. Jo is not an object for her to throwaway after the summer, Yaz knows that despite the woman being practically a stranger; she cannot just use her and then push her away again in the hopes of letting out a little pent up need since her break with Clara. Yaz would feel deeply guilty about any such move, unless Jo herself was… No, Yaz tells herself, such a thing is unlike her and is a fantasy, just like some of the stories in Amy’s book. Nothing more.

Just a fantasy.

She considers the book, discarded on the table behind her. She could do with more of those fairy tales and myths, she thinks, if it will keep her distracted from herself and what she wants. She supposes if she returns to the bookshop the next day and Jo just so happens to be there then, well, that would just be a coincidence, an additional perk to Yaz’s commitment to submerging herself in other worlds. And nothing at all to do with Yaz’s lingering urge to see her again, to speak to her again.

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was my first time writing Amy and Rory, so I hope they are alright! Thank you for reading! See you next Thursday!


	3. Dinnertime Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not Thursday but... *shrugs*  
> Thank you for the kudos and comments so far, i hope you enjoy this chapter! Jo isn't in this one, but this is the only one she isn't in! The next chapter will be up on Thursday :)

Yaz’s ignores the anticipation which swirls around in her stomach the next morning as she sets off down the hill to the bookshop. She writes it off as hunger, as she had completely forgotten to buy groceries the previous day and had had to resort to another pizza delivery, much to her embarrassment when she had gotten the same delivery driver as Monday evening. That is what is causing her stomach to flip flop around. Not the anticipation of speaking to Jo again, but hunger. Hunger for food. Nothing else. Yes.

Yaz grits her teeth, shrugging her tote bag further up her shoulder. The sun is beating down today as much as it was the day before, and she is glad she remembered to put sun cream on her neck, as its heat is unforgiving on her skin, forcing her to tie her long hair up in two buns on the top of her head to keep from sweating too much. She suddenly becomes very aware of how she smells, and she seriously hopes she remembered to put deodorant, body spray- anything- on before she left the cottage.

The bookshop comes into sight, and Yaz’s stomach twists again. There are a few people meandering down towards the harbour and beach, but Yaz is the only one interested in the bookshop, and when she reaches it, she pauses for a brief moment before pushing open the door, the bell chiming her arrival.

She looks up, expecting to see a head of blonde hair, and she tenses, but instead she is greeted with kind eyes set into a face lined lightly with age, black hair styled into braids which accentuate the woman’s features. The woman looks at her as she enters, turning from whoever she had been talking to. When Yaz’s gaze trails from her to the other occupant, she realises it is Ryan stood there. His face lights up when his eyes meet hers.

“Oh, hey Yaz!” He says, looking slightly surprised to see her, and Yaz gives him a small grin.

“Yasmin Khan!” The woman cries, and she shuffles her way out from behind the counter and envelopes Yaz into a warm hug.

“Hi Ryan’s nan.” She says.

“Oh, call me Grace, dear.” Grace says, pulling back to take Yaz in. “Look at you! It’s been years! How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Yaz says politely.

“Ryan told me you were here on holiday and I was so pleased to hear it. Must be nice to get a break from policing?”

Yaz sighs. “Yeah, for sure.” She gestures to the shop which surrounds them in its wooden embrace. “Your shop is so beautiful, Grace!”

“Oh, thank you dear! We don’t get very much custom, but… it keeps itself going.” Grace says, looking lovingly around her at the books. She reaches out and strokes one of the shelves. “They feel like my children sometimes, these books.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and even though her back is turned to him Grace somehow knows, and turns to smack him on the arm. “Enough, you. They’re much better to me than you are, my grandson.”

Ryan looks offended, but when Grace turns to Yaz there is a twinkle in her eye, and Yaz cannot help but smile. She remembers Ryan’s grandmother always being this kind and caring and confident, and it is refreshing to see her again. “What can I do for you love?”

“Oh, I was just coming in to buy another book,” Yaz says. “I bought one yesterday, but I finished it last night.”

Grace spends the next ten minutes taking Yaz through which books she might like, and in the end she settles on a book on Cornish ghost stories; truthfully, there are a few she would like to purchase, but she finds herself holding back so as to give herself another excuse to visit the bookshop again, when Jo might be there. Grace packages the item for her and, despite Yaz’s protest, gives her a generous discount.

“Have you got any plans tonight, love?” Grace asks kindly once Yaz has lipped the book into her tote bag.

“Nah, I haven’t made any firm plans for what I’m doing yet. I’m just seeing where the days take me.” She says.

“Well come for dinner!” Grace says with a bright smile. “Another face around the table will be lovely! Save us from hearing all about Graham’s minibus again!” She says, not unkindly.

Ryan makes a gasping sound. “Oh, yeah, please save us Yaz!”

“Quiet, you.” Grace says with a fond glare at Ryan.

“I’d be delighted!” Yaz says, and she really is looking forward to it, for both the company and the proper food. She does, however, feel slightly apprehensive about having to recount exactly what had brough her to Kennock Cove in the first place. Grace is so open and kind that Yaz wonders if she will find herself admitting all the worries that sit in her chest, and then she wonders whether that would be a bad thing.

“Ryan, you meet Yaz at her cottage and bring her along to ours.” Grace directs her grandson. “Be there about six thirty.”

Ryan nods, turning to Yaz. “That alright with you?”

“Yeah!” Yaz says. “Can’t wait.” 

* * *

Yaz spends the rest of her day lazing about and making her way through her second purchase, after she had successfully managed to purchase some food from a local shop. Fortunately, the table on the patio comes with a parasol which Yaz had discovered in a small outhouse, allowing her to while away the afternoon whilst remaining protected from the sun. It would not do to get sunstroke.

She had gotten up, every now and then, to stretch her legs and to look down at the village, engaging in a bit of people watching. She can just about see Oscar at his bike booth, and she thinks she sees Jack once or twice darting in and out of the coastguard station. There is, however, no sign of a head of blonde hair.

She panics at five in the afternoon, realising she has not showered or washed her hair, and tries to tell herself she has plenty of time before Ryan comes whilst furiously massaging shampoo into her scalp. She forgoes makeup, finding very little use for it unless she is getting dressed up to go somewhere, and then feels guilty for not thinking of Grace’s hospitality as a nice occasion, and so puts a little mascara on. She dressed in a nice top and skinny jeans, hoping she will not be too hot, but forgoes a jacket. She has just got her hair dried and styled by the time Ryan is knocking on the door.

“Hi.” She says, a little out of breath from rushing down the stairs. Ryan does not notice, however, looking up at the cottage.

“Damn, I forgot how nice this place were.” He remarks, taking a wisp of wisteria which hangs over the door gently between his fingers.

“I know, Bill’s dead lucky.” Yaz says, checking she has her key and her phone before stepping out the door and closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to walk, I’m ‘fraid.” Ryan says. “It’s not too far, though.”

“Fine by me. Been reading all afternoon.” Yaz says as they begin to set off away from the cottage.

“Making your way through your second book? Damn Yaz, I didn’t know you were such a big reader.”

“Neither did I.” Yaz admits. She has not had much time for reading at all in all the years she has been working, and it has come as a nice change to suddenly realise she can while away an afternoon devouring page after page. Gives her a good excuse to go back to the bookshop, too.

‘Shut up.’ She tells herself and gets lost in a conversation with Ryan about their school days. 

* * *

Grace and Graham’s cottage sits on the other side of the village, nestled between two other cottages on a cobbled street. They had taken a short cut through an alley by the bookshop, and it is clear the street is not accessible by car. Yaz wonders where Graham keeps his minibus.

It is smaller than Yaz’s own, but the light décor Grace has used makes it feel spacious inside. Like Yaz, they sit further up on the cliff edge than the bookshop, so that whilst the shop is nestled in the heart of the village, Grace ad Graham are granted views out over the parallel cliff and the ocean. Yaz can make out her cottage, just slightly out of view from where the cliff curves away.

Ryan leads her through a lounge, onto which the front door had directly opened, and which has the best view of the ocean, and towards the back of the house, where a modern renovation has provided Grace and Graham with an open kitchen diner. Through glass doors Yaz can see a small garden. Stood at the hob and smiling at her is Grace, who promptly envelops her into a warm hug. Yaz feels slightly embarrassed as she realises she forgot to bring something in thanks for their feeding her. She apologies bashfully, but Grace shrugs her off, telling her it is no bother.

Yaz is seated, with a cold drink in her hand, served by Ryan under his nan’s watchful gaze, by the time a greying man with laughter lines and a kind demeanour enters the room, buttoning the cuff of his button down shirt. He looks up at Yaz and gives her a wide, beaming smile.

“You must be Yaz!” He says, holding out his hand for her to shake.

Yaz has met Graham before, briefly, but it has been years since, and so she does not blame the man for forgetting, and instead accepts his handshake and gives him a polite smile back.

“Hi, Graham. Ryan’s told me all about you.”

“Oh, good things I hope.” Graham says with a cheeky grin, moving to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Not likely.” Ryan mutters, sliding into a seat next to Yaz, who nudges his leg with her foot.

“Absolutely. He says you run a free bus service for the village?”

“Oh no Yaz please don’t get him started…” Ryan groans, and Yaz holds back a laugh as Graham launches into a spiel about his bus driving days and his precious minibus. 

* * *

Yaz is tucking into her meal by the time the questions she has been dreading come up, and she answers them politely enough, but leaves out the major details. Yes, she is taking a break from work, but for no other reason than she has not had a proper break since her early twenties. No, she was not dumped; she broke up with her girlfriend, and yes, she is fine with that fact. She catches Grace’s eye at one point, and there is something steady and understanding in that gaze, and the woman tactically moves the conversation away from Yaz and onto the bookshop instead. Yaz sighs with relief, loosing track of the conversation for a moment as she pushes down the worry and the stress and tells herself to focus on the delicious meal and the pleasant company she is surrounded by. She jolts when she hears her name, tuning back into the conversation.

“And you’ll have to meet Jo, Yaz-” Grace says.

“Oh, Yaz has met Jo.” Ryan says, interjecting whilst cramming salad into his mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” Yaz says, willing her cheeks not to flush red, willing herself not to look too overexcited. “She seems really nice.”

“She’s a bit of an oddball.” Graham says jokingly, twirling pasta around his fork.

“Yeah, proper mental.” Ryan says.

“Ryan!” Grace berates him. She turns to Yaz. “Ignore him, love, he’s being tactless. I’ve told him to stop it…”

“I don’t actually mean it, nan, but you’ve got to admit Jo’s a little….” Ryan says, and waves his hands about in a vague gesture around his head. “I’m not judging her or anything, and yeah she’s proper nice, but she’s….” He trails off, shrugging.

“She’s a lost soul, that’s all.” Grace says. “She just needs some more direction in life.”

“Has she been working for you long?” Yaz asks, stuffing bread into her mouth afterward, the image of casualness. Or, at least, she hopes she is.

“She’s been here about six months- or is it five?” Grace says. She laughs. “Easy to lose track, but yes, quite a while. She’s ever so brilliant at the tours, Yaz, she used to be a university lecturer-”

“Yaz is going on one tomorrow.” Ryan says.

Grace’s faces lights up. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it!” She says, and she catches Ryan’s eyes for a moment. He is watching her very carefully. She averts her gaze.

Jo was a university lecturer? That is not what Yaz had expected, and she wonders how the woman has come from that to be an apparent ‘lost soul’ in a small Cornish village. By the time her ears tune back into the conversation, Ryan is talking animatedly with his nan. 

“…She lives in the storage room above your shop, nan, how much do you think she’s got her life together?” Grace reaches across the table and smacks him lightly on the arm.

“Ryan Sinclair, don’t talk like that!”

“What? I’m just saying she’s got enough money to afford somewhere much nicer.” Ryan says.

“Ryan, you’re being too hard on her.” Graham interjects, and Yaz watches as Ryan sighs, literally turning his body away somewhat. She frowns, wondering what she relationship is like between step-grandson and step-grandad. “It’s alright for you to find another path in life, even when you’ve been walking another one for years. Look at your nan, she didn’t just decide to retire from nursing and that was that. She went out and started her own business, became her own employer.” He looks fondly at his wife. “That’s why I love her. She’s never doubted what she can do.”

Yaz is too busy watching Grace take Graham’s hand and give it a light squeeze, the love which passes between them almost palpable, to notice Ryan’s bashful expression. His mouth twitches. It is hard to hear the truth from Graham’s mouth, but he knows the man is right.

“Jo just needs to get to that point where she realises what she wants and is ready to make a change. I’m happy enough to keep her employed in the meantime. She does an excellent job both in the shop and on the tours.”

Grace’s sympathy for Jo is a relief to hear, and Yaz feels slightly put out by Ryan’s harsh judgement of Jo. Perhaps it is just a bravado born of his own insecurities, but whatever it is has dredged up Yaz’s own stresses about what exactly she is doing with her life. Once the main course has been cleared from the table, she excuses herself and heads out the open glass doors leading to the garden.

She mindlessly takes in the sound of plates clattering and cutlery clanging behind her, caught up in the whirlwind of her thoughts. She is so preoccupied that she jumps when Grace places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, love.” She says, but keeps her hand firmly on Yaz’s shoulder, the touch a comfort, rather than a restriction. “I hope none of our questions offended you earlier.”

“Oh, no, of course they didn’t!” Yaz says.

“And sorry about Ryan, you know how he can get, boy has no tact sometimes…”

“Honestly, it’s fine…” Yaz reassures her. She wets her lips with her tongue, choosing her next words carefully. “I’m just a bit… confused, at the moment, about what I want from life.” Grace nods understandingly, and so Yaz goes on. “It’s scaring me that I’ve reached twenty-eight years of age and I’m suddenly realising things are not working out how I’d like. Work seems like a dead end at the moment, I feel like I should have gotten farther in the force by now… And with breaking up with Clara… don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I did, the relationship was going nowhere, but now… now I don’t know what I want.”

“Sometimes, love, knowing what you want is not a good thing. Sometimes, it’s best to take a step back and say ‘right, life, what have you got for me’, and see where it takes you. If I’d have stopped to think whether returning and buying a bookshop in Cornwall was a good idea I don’t think I’d have done it. But here I am, and I absolutely adore it. The same with Graham and me, too. The practicalities of our relationship crossed our minds, of course they did, but in the end we knew we loved each other and wanted to be together, and we made it work.” She draws her arm around Yaz, bringing her into a sideways hug.

“Maybe being here, right now, is the universe telling you to see where it will guide you, to not look forward into where you’re going, and to live in the moment.”

Grace’s words run achingly similar to Bill’s, and Yaz lets out a long, deep breath, nodding. Maybe she needed to hear it from someone else, someone older and wiser, before she could finally accept that she is allowed to relax and not put any limits or deadlines on herself.

And maybe part of that could be a summer fling…

“Come and have some pudding, love.” Grace says, turning and re-entering the house. Yaz follows her after a second’s hesitation, leaving her thoughts to sit out in the garden. 

* * *

“I’m not actually judging Jo, y’know.” Ryan says later, as they head back down the side alley. Grace had forced him into escorting Yaz home. “And I’m not judging you, either, if you were thinking of something different. Look how long it took me to work out what I wanted.” That is true, it had taken Ryan a few years to understand that an engineering degree would be the best place for his skillset, applying as a ‘mature student’. “I’m just… Jo confuses me, and I can’t seem to understand her. She’s a million and one questions all wrapped up in one person, with no apparent answer for any of ‘em.”

Yaz considers this, eyes watching a seagull make lazy circles in the sky. “But… is she worth knowing?”

Ryan looks at her for a long while, and he almost trips and stumbles, but he rights himself before he can. “…Yeah.” He finally answers truthfully.

Yaz considers this the entire way back to the cottage. 

* * *

Her Facebook profile sits in front of her, months out of date, as she does not bother to really update it anymore. She is sick of having all of her personal information plastered all over the internet, where it is anyone’s to see and to use. Having said that, she feels like a slight hypocrite as she types in Clara’s details and clicks on her profile.

She scoffs, sitting more upright on the sofa as she sees Clara has only updated her account yesterday. A large, flashy image, obviously taken in a nightclub, of Clara and another woman, being _very_ familiar, posed in front of the camera is displayed before her, and Yaz incredulously reads the caption: ‘Special night with a special girlfriend.’

“What the fuck…” She whispers. She grinds her teeth together, slamming her laptop lid shut and not too gently placing her laptop down on the sofa next to her. “How…”

It seems Clara has had no trouble moving on from Yaz, affections reserved solely for her now the owner of another. Yaz feels angry, and embarrassed, and she strides out of the room, desperate for some air.

The sun is beginning its slow descent as she paces in the garden, muttering under her breath. She and Clara had been dating for two years, and now the woman has found someone new in a matter of _weeks?!_

“How?!” Yaz asks the air. “How does she do that?”

Maybe she does need to lighten and loosen up, maybe that is the problem. She resents that thought, but perhaps it makes sense. Is she expecting someone to fall easily into her lap?

When the worst of the anger is rid of her body, she leans herself against the stone wall, head hanging loosely. Her eyes gaze, unseeingly, down at the beach, until she spots Jo’s figure, watching the sunset in the exact same position for the third night in a row. Yaz is not bothered that she misses the sunset once again, too busy taking in the slim lines of Jo’s body, the light caress of her hair upon her shoulders. Maybe it would not be so hard to simply try and-

She cannot do it. She has never been good at flirting or putting herself ‘out there’. She and Clara had orbited each other for months before they eventually came together. Maybe she should just be alone? Maybe that is what the universe is telling her? Not to pursue someone like a game to be won, but instead to take some time for herself.

“I don’t know what I want.” She admits to herself. “And I don’t know whether I want to do anything about that.”

Still, the thoughts of Jo follow her inside, once the sun has disappeared and obscured the woman from view. She remains there in Yaz’s head, like a bee in her bonnet, the information Yaz has learnt about her buzzing around her head. Ryan is right, the woman does seem to be shrouded in mystery and long sleeve jumpers. Yaz might not be certain of much, but there is one thing she is certain of: she wants to solve those mysteries, and what she hopes to find by doing so… she is not sure, but her eyes and her long sleeve jumpers call to Yaz. Just a shame she does not quite know how to go about answering their call, or indeed understanding that they are calling in the first place.

She goes to bed exhausted and confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Ryan doesn't come off too rude about Jo in this... I was trying to reflect what i saw as his growing reluctance throughout series 12 to travel with the Doctor anymore, as she was not talking to the fam about anything that was happening lol. But know I love that boy dearly. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments greatly appreciated! See you Thursday!


	4. Stuck in Quicksand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this chapter!

Yaz soaks up every single fact and anecdote Jo tells in the two hours her tour lasts, raptured by the woman’s ability to draw one in with words and twist you around her finger. Yaz feels as though her feet have been manipulated by Jo into moving her to each site of interest around the village and surrounding area, and when the spell breaks, and they have come full circle to the front of the shop, she feels disappointed to be let go. She can imagine Jo was an exceptional lecturer.

The small crowd Yaz has been a part of gives Jo a round of applause, and she thanks everyone for coming, shooting Yaz a polite smile. She had done the same when Yaz had turned up, unfortunately, although she bites back the thought, not the first, and Jo had only been able to shoot her a small smile before a man was asking her a question. Today the woman is wearing a long sleeve dark blue shirt and black culottes, with the same boots she had been wearing on Tuesday, and Yaz denies to herself that she had spent the moments they were moving to each area of interest staring at the way her shoulder blades moved under the clinging fabric.

The crowd disperses once Jo has released them from her spell, and Yaz waits for Jo to be free so that she might thank her for her tour. She checks her phone, biting her lip. She is due to meet Ryan at Amy and Rory’s café in five minutes, but she would feel so rude leaving without speaking to Jo. She shuffles from foot to foot, irrational anger washing over her at the people talking to Jo. She fights not to mutter under her breath, watching another minute tick by.

In the end, she gives up, and makes her way down the hill to the harbour at a quick pace, now most definitely late and feeling extremely guilty for not having spoken to the other woman. It feels like her feet are stuck in treacle, reluctant to move and to leave the person she really wants to talk to.

The situation becomes even more frustrating when she arrives at Pond’s Pastries to find Ryan is not even there yet, and a text pops up on her phone as she enters.

‘Gonna be 5 mins late, soz.’

“Ryan.” She tuts.

“Oh, hi, Yaz, wasn’t it?” Rory says to her from his position behind the counter, which he is wiping down with a cloth.

“Yeah. Hi, Rory.” She says. “I’m meeting Ryan, but he’s late.”

“Oh! Yes, we’ve got a table reserved for you!” Rory says, tripping slightly over his own feet as he moves from behind the counter and to a table seating two, with one chair and one bench seat, which lines the entire right wall of the café.

“I tried to get you a window seat, but Ryan only texted an hour ago, so…”

“It’s fine.” Yaz says, manoeuvring herself into the bench seat and placing her bag down underneath the table. She picks up a menu and fans herself with it as Rory moves back behind the counter to serve some other patrons. As she waits for Ryan, she lets her mind wander, and it wanders, because of _course_ it does, to Jo, and Yaz cannot stop it.

The feeling of uncertainty she had felt last night over what to do has not been helped by how genuinely enthralling Jo was this morning, turning her thoughts towards what the woman might be like were Yaz to try and throw the rope out. The idea of a summer fling had seemed a preposterous romantic fantasy, but now Yaz has seen the woman to whom her mind keeps straying, _really_ seen her, in that she has seen more than just her physical beauty, over the past couple of days, it is trying to find anchorage in her mind, poking and prodding at her to convince her it would be a good idea. That she wants to do it.

But wanting and doing are completely different things, and that familiar uncertainty from the night before comes back and she questions whether she could _actually_ do it. And then all the other unknowns come rushing in and she lets out a long breath, increasing the pace of her fanning with the menu.

_Jo might not even be into women, and even if she is, she might not even be into you, and oh my god you’ve known her two days and you’re already fantasising what she might be like to…_

“Yaz?”

Yaz jumps, coming back to herself to see Jo looking down, a small crease in her brow.

Shit.

“Oh, hi Jo.” She says, dropping the menu to the table and smiling slightly, willing her cheeks not to flush red with embarrassment. She swallows, collecting herself. “I err, I wanted to say earlier that your tour was brilliant, really fantastic, but there was some man talking to you…”

“Oh yeah, him.” Jo says with a tut and a roll of her eyes. “He wouldn’t stop questioning me! I think he doubted my ability to both retain information and then use my mouth to tell it to people.”

Yaz laughs, “Well then he must be out of his mind because it’s….” She tries to reign herself in before she comes off as too over eager. “…. All that information…Wow.” She ends lamely, mentally cringing.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Jo says with a polite smile, her mouth a flat line.

There is a moment of awkward silence, and Jo’s gaze keeps moving to the kitchen which lies behind the front wall. Yaz frantically thinks of something to say, her mind finally landing on-

“I was going to come in and buy some more books, but I had to meet Ryan here for lunch.”

“Oh!” Jo says, face lighting up. “I could always set you some aside you might like, if you want? Grace were telling me you bought another one on ghost stories yesterday.”

_Grace had been talking about her with Jo?_ “Oh, yeah.” She replies. “But, really, anything would be of interest. Maybe some of the King Arthur books.”

“King Arthur, noted.” Jo says, tapping her temple with a finger. “Just come by when you’re ready, I’m there all afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Yaz says, sinking back into her seat, not realising how tense she had been until she did. That is very considerate of Jo, and Yaz desperately tries not to read too much into it; Grace had said she was very good at her job, she might just be being a very good saleswoman, but Yaz is too far gone down that one singular path to not let herself think it might be something more.

“Amy’s book was fantastic.” She says, and then an idea strikes. “Actually, I might purchase another for my mum, I think she’d love to know more about where I’m staying.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it.” Comes the Scottish twang of Amy as she steps out of the kitchen, laden tray in one hand and brown takeaway bag in the other. With some admirable skill she places the tray down on the counter without spilling or dropping anything. Rory promptly picks it up and whisks it away to another table. “I can always give her a personalised message from the author. ‘To my adoring fans…’”

“‘Please show yourselves. I cannot find you anywhere’.” Jo finishes for her, and Yaz laughs as Amy lightly shoves the other woman.

“Watch it you, I control your access to pain au chocolat.” Amy says, waving the paper bag in Jo’s face. The other women’s eyes narrow.

“I could go and get some from the other café nearer the bookshop.” She says with a cocked eyebrow.

Amy glares. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Mrs Grose likes me, I helped her get her cat out of a tree once.” Jo warns. “She’d give me a proper good discount.”

“But she also forgets to wear a hairnet half the time and gets her dandruff into her bakes.” Amy counters without missing a beat.

Yaz makes a mental note to never go to Mrs Grose’s café.

Jo mutters a curse under her breath and stamps her foot against the ground. Amy laughs, having won their battle of the wills. The depth of their friendship is crystal clear to Yaz as she watches the two of them interact.

“There you go, you mardy mare.” Amy says, handing Jo the paper bag. “Text me after work.”

“Of course, Pond.” Jo says, curling the paper bag into her grip and making the paper crinkle. She turns to Yaz, “I’ll have the books ready for whenever you can drop in.”

“Thank you.” Yaz says, trying to instil her words with the gratefulness she feels. Jo gives both the other woman a passing smile before turning on her heel, manoeuvring her slim frame around the tables and chairs of the café. She catches her booted foot on one of the chairs and trips, the chair making a painful scraping noise against the oak floor as it gets dragged along. Yaz winces.

“Clumsy oaf.” Amy mutters fondly under her breath before she trails back into the kitchen. Jo is so preoccupied with straightening the chair as she continues to move towards the door, her back to it, that she does not notice Ryan come in at just the moment she reaches it, and they bump into each other, Ryan raising his arms up above his head as he tries to get his large frame out of the way.

“Sorry, Jo.”

“Nah, you’re alright Ryan, that were all me.” Jo says. “Can’t find ma feet sometimes…”

She promptly leaves through the front door, and Yaz bites back a laugh at how endearing the whole scene was to watch. In a strange way, the lack of control Jo seems to have over her limbs seems to suit her, as if they were always meant to function like that.

“Sorry I’m late Yaz.” Ryan says, taking his seat and looking a little embarrassed about his bump in with Jo. “How were the tour?”

“Brilliant.” Yaz says, eyes still fixed on the door, and where Jo had been just a minute ago. 

* * *

After her lunch with Ryan, Yaz finds herself wandering aimlessly along the beach, mind far away as the sound of the waves washes over her. She has come here to think, and to seek some advice from someone who has always been her port of call for this sort of dilemma. She raises her phone to her ear and waits for Bill to pick up.

_“Hi Yaz! This is a nice surprise. Everything okay with the cottage?”_ Bill asks as soon as she answers.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Yaz bites her lip. “Have you got a minute?”

_“Yeah I’m on my lunch break, what’s up?”_

Yaz takes a deep breath, trying to find both the words and the bravery to admit to Bill she may have just found herself trying to pursue the one thing she had vociferously told Bill she would not be doing.

_“Yaz?”_ Bill asks again.

“So, there’s this person…” She begins, and Bill audibly gasps. She tenses. “Bill-”

“Oh-”

“Bill, it’s-”

“My-”

“Seriously, I don’t-”

“God!” Bill cries. “Damn Yaz that didn’t take long.”

“It’s not like that, it’s….” Yaz weakly protests. She come to a stop by a rocky outlay which juts out into the water. “This is all your fault you know, suggesting a _summer fling!”_

“Is that what you want this person?” Bill asks, curious, the sound of a smile in her voice.

“I…” Yaz sits down heavily on the rocks, not caring if her trousers get slightly damp. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do, I just know that I like her!”

“Well, what is it about her that you like?”

“She’s…. fascinating.” Yaz says. _And clever and gorgeous and…_ “And probably not even into women, and if she was, I don’t think it’d be likely she’s into me and-”

“Woah, Yaz, mate, chill out!” Bill says, cutting off her stream of consciousness. “Look, I can tell from how much you’ve begun to overthink this that this has gone way beyond you thinking maybe she might be nice for a night of-”

“Yep, I get it.” Yaz agrees.

“So, I suggest you get yourself out of this conundrum by acting on what you’re feeling! Try and flirt with her! And if she doesn’t like it, then apologise and then at least you’ll know it won’t go anywhere. But whatever you do will be better than this corner you’ve worked yourself into!”

Bill is right, no matter how much dread the thought of trying to flirt brings to Yaz. “I don’t think I can flirt very well, Bill…”

“Yaz, stop overthinking it!” Bill cries. “Just say whatever comes to mind, it doesn’t have to be Shakespeare. Although you do get bonus points for being smooth.”

Yaz makes an ‘agh’ sound of stress, tipping her head back. “This was supposed to be relaxing, this holiday.”

“And it will be, if you just have bit more faith in yourself, mate. You’re hot as hell.” Bill says.

Yaz snorts, “Oh, _stop it._ ”

“No one could resist you, and not just for that. You’re a smashing person, Yaz.”

“Thanks Bill.”

“And you’re definitely going to have to introduce us once I’m down there. If she’s not interested in you, then I think I could-”

“Stop! Now!” Yaz protests again, but there is a smile tugging at her lips, and she feels her resolve hardening, like the solid rock that she sits on. Her nerves might swish around in her like the waves which are threatening to lap at her feet at the thought of having to flirt with Jo, but at least they have some direction, and are being carried on a current of action instead of anxious apathy.

Bill ends the call with a cheery ‘laters!’ and Yaz sits for a moment more upon the rocks, preparing herself. She plays with her phone in her hand, considering it for a moment. And then, with the slightest tinge is embarrassment, she brings up Google and searches ‘pick up lines to do with books’. 

* * *

Yaz mutters a string of garbled curse words under her breath as she strides with forced determination towards the bookshop. The online articles she found were useless, too many puns about male genitalia which would be very inappropriate for her situation. She is going in blind, with no idea what to say or how to say it.

The now familiar chime of the bell seems to resonate harshly in Yaz’s ears as her heart pounds in her chest. She blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the light, and when they do, she is greeted by the sight of Jo behind the counter, looking up at her with thick rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

“Hi, Yaz!” She greets.

Yaz falters, taken off guard by how much the glasses suit Jo. “…I like your glasses.”

“Oh thanks! I normally wear my contacts, but I got pain au chocolat in my eye, and…” Jo gestures at the glasses and shrugs.

“How do you get…” Yaz begins, but then shakes her head. “Never mind!”

“I’ve got your books.” Jo says, sliding from her stool and reaching for something under the counter. She pulls out a pile of books, a _large_ pile of books, and slams them down on the countertop.

“Wow, that’s… a lot.” Yaz says, coming closer to peer at their titles.

“I picked out a lot, just because I didn’t know what you might like, but obviously you don’t have to take all of them,” Jo explains, but Yaz is barely listening, her brain scrambling. “Some of them are more academic than others, and some of them are cheap thrills, so don’t be expecting them all to be Shakespeare!”

‘ _You don’t have to be Shakespeare.’_

_‘Forget Shakespeare, it's your pages I want to read.'_

“Fucking hell I can’t say that.” Yaz mutters, so caught up in herself she does not realise.

Jo blinks, looking from the books to Yaz. “Sorry, Yaz, did ya say something?”

Yaz stakes a shaky breath, steadying herself. “It’s all fine, whatever you’ve got for me.”

Jo launches into a speech about each book she has picked out, holding them up to Yaz each time for her to take and have a look at. At one point, their fingers brush, and Yaz jumps almost a foot in the air, the books she was taking falling to the ground. 

_I’m falling for you just like this book._ Yaz thinks as she bends to pick the book up off the ground. _Oh, come on that is terrible!_

“Sorry.” She mutters. _Think of something better, think of something better!_ She looks at the cover of the books she is holding, and sees it focusses on the women of Arthurian tales. “Oh! This one looks interesting!”

“Oh it’s fab!” Jo gushes. “The author’s work on Morgan le Fay, or Morgana, however you want to say it, is really… spell-binding!” She jokes.

Yaz laughs, brain desperately trying to piece together words to form a sentence. “It’s like those sorceresses have climbed out of the book because you certainly wove a spell earlier- on me- I mean, the tour, it was very…captivating.”

Jo’s stares at her, head titling slightly to the side. She frowns, but there is a small smile on her lips. “I see myself more like Merlin, hiding in his cave.” She says, gesturing around her at the bookshop. “Amy’d be more a sorceress. Woman’s got a way with pastries I tell ya that…”

“A cave?” Yaz asks, “This bookshop is too beautiful to be called a cave.” She cringes.

_I just complimented the bookshop instead of her. Damn it._

“All of it.” She adds lamely, gesturing around the room, including Jo. “Very beautiful.”

Jo scrunches up her nose, looking around the place, completely oblivious to Yaz’s efforts. “Yeah. No, you’re right…”

This is not going well, and Yaz wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole, and then flush her out to the sea and let her sink to the bottom of the ocean. She jumps when the bell chimes and a man walks in with a pleasant smile to the both of them. It seems like her time is up, and if anything, she has probably just confused Jo. She needs to get out of there.

She graciously takes all of the books Jo has picked out for her, thanking the woman as she puts in a discount for Yaz as per Grace’s orders, and departs with a hurried wave in her direction. She is blind to anyone and everything as she makes her way back up the hill to the cottage, not stopping to check if there any cars approaching, and she walks so quickly that she is sweating heavily by the time she has reached her temporary home. She fumbles with the key, swearing as she fails to fit it in the lock. When she finally does get the door open, she practically throws herself in the house.

“Well, I hope you’re happy Yaz!” She says to herself once she has closed the door and thrown her body against it. She lets her head thump back against the wooden surface.

Her flirting had been so dismally terrible that she cannot even say whether Jo had picked up on it or not, for all the woman knows Yaz might have just been acting very strange all of a sudden. She groans, letting her bag of books drop to the floor with a resounding thump. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out.

‘How did it go?’ A text from Bill reads.

Yaz simply sends back, ‘Terrible,’ and then sends another text adding ‘I told you I couldn’t flirt.’

‘Don’t get too hung up on it!’ Bill replies. ‘You tried, and that’s the main thing.’

“You weren’t there Bill, you don’t know just _how_ bad it was.” Yaz says, knowing her best friend cannot hear her, and slips her phone back into her pocket, reluctantly moving away from the door. She picks up her bag of books and walks through to the kitchen, throwing it on the main island as she fetches herself a glass of cool water.

“Why does this matter so much to me? Why am I driving myself bonkers with these thoughts?” She asks herself as she pours water from the tap into the glass. “She’s just a very beautiful and clever woman and I’m a lonely idiot who’s got stupid ideas into her head!”

And then it hits her.

The way that Jo has made Yaz feel, like the glasses today, and the tour that morning, the static buzz of electricity which sits under her skin, jolting with every new thing the woman does and shocking Yaz with its current… it was the same feeling she had first had when she and Clara had met and begun their inevitable orbit into a relationship. The two of them had been drawn to the other, and the thrill that had sat in Yaz whenever she thought of the woman, she feels it now, like an electric current.

Except this time, she does not think she has a receptor.

And she wonders where this energy is going to go, and whether she will just end up shocking herself until she is charred out from the inside, no better than she had been since she split with Clara. But she has wired herself up now, and there is no leaving the current which carries her along, crawling under her skin. 

* * *

She realises she is subconsciously looking for Jo on the beach by the time the sun begins to set when her gaze rakes the beach for the sign of now familiar blonde hair. She wonders why the woman comes to see the sunset seemingly every day from her usual place in the shallows. The beauty of it all is understandable, but Yaz wonders if there is some other reason. Habit, perhaps?

She had given into curiosity earlier, once she had showered off her embarrassing flirting, and looked Jo up on Facebook. She had found no profile matching the blonde woman, however, no matter how many variations of the name ‘Joanne’ she typed in. She remains elusive, no information given up on what she likes… _who_ she likes.

Yaz spots her as she takes up her usual place leaning against the wall. Yaz fools herself she can make out the glasses perched on her nose from her lofty view. If Yaz reaches out her finger, she can cover Jo’s body with just her finger. “Who are you?” She whispers, but of course the woman does not hear, and instead is held in stasis whilst the sun descends on another day.

She is captured by the sunset, and Yaz is captured by her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive those terrible pickup lines, I cannot flirt for the life of me and those were the best I could come up with- that Google search of Yaz's is based on my own search whilst writing this! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments always appreciated. Next chapter I'm going to ramp the angst up just that little bit... so stay tuned!


	5. Shifting Sands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this one, i'm interested to know what you think...
> 
> also going to add, as a precaution just in case, that there is overuse of alcohol by one character in this chapter (i'll add it to the tags as well)

Head fuzzy, singed from yesterday’s interaction and the electric shock of feelings that followed as Yaz had realised her affections for Jo are manifesting into a full-blown crush, she decides to rent a bike, with the hope the physical exercise will help her clear her head.

She strides purposefully down into the harbour, the sturdier footwear of Converse on her feet, making a point not to look in the direction of the bookshop at all. She does not know if Jo is even working there today, but if what Ryan had said is correct, and she lives above the bookshop, Yaz plays it safe and veers her path to the other side of the road.

When she reaches the harbour, she notices Jack, strolling along the edge of the harbour slipway, speaking into a walkie-talkie. When he spots Yaz he gives her a short wave, which she returns as she crosses the road.

“You should look both ways, you know.” A drawling voice says, and Yaz braces herself as he approaches the bike rental, and the man stood outside of it, leaning against his shed once again.

“Can I rent a bike for the day?” Yaz asks, ignoring his earlier comment, not playing to the beat of his drum.

Oscar nods sharply, pulling a ring of keys out of his trouser pocket. He is dressed the same as he was when Yaz had first met him, and she begins to wonder whether he owns any other style of clothing.

“For the whole day will be £30.” He states as he walks along a row of adult bikes, sizing Yaz up to see which one would be best suited for her.

Yaz frowns. “Your leaflet says £15.” She replies, and she pulls it out from her backpack’s side pocket, holding it out for him.

He does not take it, fiddling with the lock on a sleek silver bike, but he does glance briefly up at her. “The leaflet is out of date. These are the summer prices.”

“Oh, are they?” Yaz asks, police officer training slipping into place. “And have you informed customers of that? Have you advertised that anywhere?”

Oscar curls his lip, manoeuvring the silver bike out of its stand. “Who made you the authority on how I should run my business?”

Yaz is about to slam the full force of her authority down on him, both as a police officer and as a person who really does not appreciate being talked to in that way, but another voice speaks before she can.

“Exploiting your customers again, Oscar?”

Jo is stood by them, in running gear, and Yaz feels herself instantly redden at the sight of lyrca clinging to her lithe body, the fabric clinging to small but muscled arms, fabric travelling down her body. Her short hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but a few strands have escaped, and curtain her flushed face.

Oscar looks Jo up and down, a smirk on his face. “You do so enjoy playing the role of justice warrior, don’t you Joanne?”

Yaz has heard no one refer to the woman as Joanne before, and she becomes curious as to the relationship between the two.

“Someone’s got to stop you.” Jo says, impatiently. She gestures to Yaz. “Give it to Yaz for the usual price.”

“Why should I do as you say?” Oscar asks, shoving the bike at Yaz and getting up into Jo’s face. The woman does not back down, but simply looks Oscar in the eye with a small smirk on her face.

“Because I know how the mechanisms on these bikes work, and I know exactly how one can dissemble them. But you don’t know how to fix them, do you?” Jo replies.

Yaz expects Oscar to flush with anger and spit vitriol at Jo, but instead his lip curls up in a dangerous smile, and he steps closer into Jo’s space, gaze travelling to her lips and then back up to her eyes.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of pent-up aggression there, Joanne.” He says, and Jo raises her eyebrows, staring directly back at him. They hold that position for a few seconds, Yaz growing ever more bemused, before Jo scoffs, stepping back. 

“Give it to Yaz at discounted price.” She says. “And leave the dramatics at home.” 

She waits whilst Oscar reluctantly charges Yaz the £15 for the bike hire, arms crossed in front of her chest, only moving away once Yaz has taken the bike, without thanking the man, and begins to walk it away from the vendor.

“Thanks for that, Jo.” Yaz says, some of her previous embarrassment forgotten in her genuine confusion about the interaction she had just witnessed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Oscar likes to assert his dominance. I like to pull it out from under his feet.” Jo remarks dryly.

Yaz wets her lips with her tongue, finding the words she wants to ask but does not know whether she wants the answer to. “Jo, does he….? I mean, does Oscar…”

“Like me?” Jo prompts.

Yaz nods.

She shrugs. “Who knows. It’s hard to tell between love and hate with him. But he has asked me to dinner about five times, now.”

“Have you ever said yes?” Yaz asks, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

“Nope.” Jo pops the ‘p’. “Although it has been tempting just to see the disappointment on his face when I tell him I’m not interested.”

Yaz takes her chance, throwing caution to the wind. “In men in general or just Oscar?”

Jo considers this, head tilting to the side. “I find myself drawn to the person, rather than by anything else, if that makes sense?”

Yaz nods. “Yeah, it does.”

That answer from Jo sticks in Yaz’s mind as if put there with superglue, a diamond which glimmers with hope. She bids farewell to Jo, not catching her eye, and mounts the bike, pushing off and heading out of the village for the first time during her stay at Kennock Cove.

As she rides, Yaz lets herself be buoyed by the summer breeze, and the fact that the gates to Jo are not locked shut, but simply are there, ready to open if Yaz is brave enough to ask the woman if she can. The memory of Jo stopping her run to stick up for Yaz and help her out lifts her higher, so she feels as if she is cycling among the clouds on the horizon. It is, of course, possible that the woman was acting only out of a kindness she might give to anyone, knowing how belligerent Oscar could be, but the feeling of hope which lifts Yaz higher is such a nice change from the weight that had brought her down before that she indulges herself.

She feels rejuvenated, and as she stops her bike on the edge of a small country lane to see Kennock Cove spread out before her, so picturesque and perfect, Yaz allows herself a second chance, a second chance to relax, and with that relaxation let her conversations with Jo flow naturally. 

Fuelled with adrenaline, Yaz decides tomorrow night at the pub might be the best way to approach her; a relaxed setting might ease her slip into conversation with the woman, without having to rely on cliché puns and the suspenseful silence of the bookshop this time.

Bill was right, when she had said Yaz would not know if she did not try, but this time, she will try properly, without measuring herself up to the expectation of a certain way of wooing someone. Grace had told her to ask herself what she wanted, and she knows, in this moment overlooking the village in front of her, she wants to talk to Jo as _Yaz_ would. 

* * *

Yaz checks herself out in the mirror for the third time in five minutes, aware that the time is slipping away, and that she really should be at the pub by now. She is delaying herself on purpose so that she is not the first one there, and so she can summon her courage of the previous day.

She is dressed in her skinny jeans, with black boots and a black shirt speckled with white stars. It is one of her favourite outfits, sitting on either side of casual and fancy, and it gives her the confidence boost she needs to reach for her leather jacket, shucking it on as she checks her pockets for her keys and phone.

“Here we go.” She whispers, and she pulls open the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her. 

* * *

When Yaz enters the pub, nerves flare in her stomach as she tries to pick out familiar faces in the crowd. The pub is the larger of the two in the village, right on the harbour, obviously intended to cater for tourists. On his tour, Ryan had shown her the other pub, a much more traditional, secluded affair. Yaz would have preferred to have gone to that establishment, but that was not her call to make.

Her eyes scan the pub, which is not overcrowded, but is still full of bodies, the air inside hot and cloying. There is no large screen broadcasting a sports game, but instead a live band plays in one corner, the sound of folk music filling the heady air. It is atmospheric, and Yaz certainly feels very far from home listening to the plucking of violin strings.

“Yaz!” A voice calls, and she catches Ryan’s face in the mass, smiling at her. He waves her over, and Yaz weaves herself past bodies and tables and chairs and reaches his table with a relived smile.

“Hi.” She says, and Ryan pulls her in for a brief hug.

“Yaz, mate, where ya been?” Ryan asks, voice looser and louder than necessary. Someone has had a drink or two already.

“Sorry, got caught up in a phone call.” She lies.

“Well you’re here now!” Another voice says, and Yaz peers past Ryan to see Jack sat at a large table, smiling at her. “Here, take this seat.” He pulls out a chair next to him, on the end of the table, and Yaz sidles past Ryan, who takes her order of a lemonade and heads to the bar.

She notices that Amy and Rory occupy the other side of the table, Rory opposite Jack and Amy on the end. And next to Jack on his other side is Jo, but she is not looking Yaz’s way, and she seems not to have noticed the other woman’s arrival. Neither have the married couple, Amy’s head bent close to Jo’s, talking conspiratorially as Rory watches on, sipping at his lager. Yaz sits down in her chair, feeling a little awkward.

“How are ya, Yaz? How’s Kennock Cove keeping you?” Jack asks her, and Yaz is drawn into a conversation with the man about what there is to do in the Cove and what she has been doing with her time. Ryan returns with her lemonade and soon joins in on their conversation, and the table seems split in two as the three other occupants remain shrouded in on themselves at the other end of the table.

Yaz relaxes into the evening as the time passes, and although she does not have the alcoholic slide into relaxation the others do, she nonetheless finds herself having an enjoyable time talking to Ryan and Jack, and when conversation stops for a few minutes, listening to the band playing in the corner, her foot tapping along.

Every now and then she glances over at Amy and Jo, but whatever they are talking about seems to be intense, as neither has really moved since Yaz arrived. She tries not to feel too put out that they still have not greeted her. She bites at the inside of her cheek, her foot tapping turning to an anxious jitter as she wonders when she will find the right moment to slip into conversation with Jo.

About half an hour after Yaz had turned up, Amy and Jo get up and leave, and Yaz has to stop herself from darting out of her seat to follow, instead taking a long drink from her glass. Neither woman looks her way as they move past the group and outside, Jo’s hair forming a curtain across her face. Rory follows them soon after. Yaz looks between Jack and Ryan, but neither man seems to have found the behaviour odd, and so she does not ask about where the two women are going.

This night is beginning to slip very quickly from between her fingers.

Amy and Jo do not return until the sun has set and the band in the corner is wrapping up their set, another group of musicians waiting for their turn. They move past the table and into the bathrooms when they do return, and Yaz has no chance to catch either of their eyes each time as they pass by, Amy dragging Jo along so quickly by the arm the woman is practically running, stumbling slightly. She tries not to let it get to her, but the sharp sting of insecurity pokes at her insides, as well as concern. Both women, as far as she knows, have been nothing but polite and kind to her, so it is very odd that they seem so caught up in their own world as not to have acknowledged, not just Yaz, but the two men sat with her as well.

When Rory returns, and stops at the table instead of following the other two women, Yaz strikes up the nerve to ask him if there is anything wrong.

“Ah, no, no, it’s all good.” He reassures her, although his tone is far from reassuring. “Jo’s just had a bit too much to drink that’s all.” He laughs, trying to make light of it, and Yaz nods, sinking back into her seat, far from satisfied. She catches Jack’s eye, and the man offers her a smile slightly dimmer from his usual grin.

Rory prevaricates, sat on the edge of his seat, as if he is waiting for something, and his nerves put Yaz on edge, too. The much louder and faster music of the new band who have begun playing begins to shut her in on all sides, the resonating bass becomes almost painful to her ears. Yaz shifts in her seat, letting out a long breath.

Suddenly, there is a banging sound, and Yaz jumps as she sees Jo burst through a door, the sound of the wood hitting the wall must have been what caused the loud sound. A few people look over as Amy follows her soon after, reaching for her wrist. Jo squirms her way out of Amy’s hold, her face scrunched in anguish, caught between anger and upset. Something cold travels up Yaz’s spine.

“Jo, listen to me.” Amy says, voice loud and words clear. Jo shakes her head, moving unsteadily away from her.

“Don’t.” She warns. “Just don’t.” Her voice is slightly slurred from the alcohol, and the depressive acts to make her control on her limbs, already tentative to begin with, even worse, and she almost stumbles over a chair, Rory jumping up and catching her before she can fall.

She pushes away from him, and Rory stumbles backwards, hitting the table with his back and causing their drinks to topple over. Jack hastily catches the glasses before they can roll of the table. There are more people staring now, and although the band is still playing, even they are casting wary glances in the group’s direction.

“Rory, we’ve got to get her back with us.” Amy says, the concern evident on her face as she tries to put a reassuring hand to her best friend’s arm. Jo tries to push her away again, and Yaz is on her feet before she knows it.

She is used to dealing with people whilst they are inebriated, and if she can diffuse the situation a little, it is the least she can do. She has been feeling useless all evening, and she wants to help Amy and Rory, and Jo.

“Is everything okay?” She asks with her calming yet authoritative voice she uses when she needs to assert her presence. Amy looks to her, and then back at Jo.

“It’s fine, Yaz, just… don’t touch her.” She says, teeth gritted slightly.

“Yaz, Amy can handle this.” Rory says to her, lightly touching her arm. Yaz looks at him, frowning.

“Really? Are you sure she’s alright?” She says, gesturing to Jo. “I can-”

“Yaz, I appreciate it, I really do, but please just back off.” Amy says harshly, and Yaz feels caught out, as if Amy has just grabbed her by the collar and shaken her. It is irritation born of concern, Yaz knows, and she has seen it dozens of times, but it stings a little nonetheless in the moment.

“Amy.” Jo says her shoulders sagging. She turns to her best friend, the fight gone out of her. “She’s gone.”

“Come on.” Amy says, placing an arm around Jo’s shoulders, the woman all but collapsing into her. She lets out a weak sob, and Yaz’s stomach twists with worry. “You’re staying with us tonight.”

Amy escorts Jo from the pub, Rory following them, throwing ineffective glares at the pub’s patrons who stare at them as they leave. Once they have left, main door clanging shut behind them, Yaz turns to look at Ryan and Jack, lost for words.

What had just happened? =

* * *

Jack had politely asked if he could walk Yaz home, and she had accepted, catching the unspoken meaning in his words. They had left soon after Amy, Rory and Jo, and Yaz could not help herself looking across the harbour at the café and the apartment above it when they had exited the pub, to see if she could spot them, but there was no sign.

Ryan had waved them off, muttering something about meeting a woman he had been texting all week, and Jack had given him a slap on the shoulder for good luck, Yaz sending a raised eyebrow his way.

Yaz and Jack make their slow way up the hill and back to her cottage, strolling as a summer breeze accompanies them through the quiet streets. After a while, Jack speaks. “Probably not what you were expecting from tonight, huh?”

Yaz shakes her head. “No.” She admits.

“Look, it’s not my place to say anything, but Jo…” He trails off, trying to find the right words. Yaz looks at him, curious. “Jo’s… she’s great, and she’s kind and smart and funny, but she’s also fragile. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory way, I mean she’s-”

“She’s one of those people who seem strong, and they are, but they also have this weaker side they try very hard to cover up?” Yaz asks, and Jack points his finger at her.

“Got it in one.”

Yaz nods. It makes sense, alcohol exposes parts of people they normally keep under very close control. Still, it does not make Yaz any less curious, a curiosity born of concern. This evening might not have gone how she had wanted it to, but she does not find herself feeling disappointed, instead her concern for Jo overrides anything else she might be feeling.

She is so caught up in her thoughts she does not notice Jack watching her, a small smirk on his face. “Jo is a beautiful woman, inside and out.” Jack remarks.

“Yes.” Yaz agrees, and then falters, looking at him. At his knowing smirk she balks.

“How did you…?”

“I saw the way you looked at her. When you came in, when she and Amy left, when she started crying. I recognise that look.”

Yaz sighs, tipping her head back and looking up at the stars which embroider the sky above them. “Was it really that obvious?”

Jack gives her a kind smile as they begin the ascent up the path which leads to Yaz’s cottage. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a lot of experience in spotting this sort of thing.”

Yaz bites her lip. “How well do you know Jo?”

Jack considers this. “Well enough, although only Amy really knows her closely. They’ve been friends for years.”

Yaz asks her question nonetheless, reaching out to someone in the situation, someone other than Bill. “Do you think she’d be…interested, in me?”

Jack takes a deep breath, considering her question. “I think she could use someone, in any capacity. Whether she realises that or not. And if that person was you, Yaz… well, I think that’d be wonderful.” He replies, grinning.

Yaz nods, satisfied with his answer, whatever satisfaction means to her at this moment when her mind is racing and the image of Jo collapsing into Amy in tears plays in front of her eyes a hundred times over.

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, Jack waving her off from her front door with a wink, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks away.

Once she has closed the cottage door behind her, Yaz shucks off her jacket, and traipses into the kitchen, placing her phone down on the kitchen island, and then leaning her forearms on the cool surface.

She thanks her lucky stars that the night did not go the way she had planned for it to, as it would have been neither the time nor the place. Jo had been very upset, and Yaz blanches as she thinks what might have been the case had she decided to try and initiate a conversation. There is something else at play here which makes Yaz draw back and consider her approach, or really, whether she has one.

Perhaps she should just let things naturally play out instead of actively pursuing Jo. If the woman needs someone, like Jack said, in any capacity, then maybe if Yaz stops trying so hard it will become easier for her to get to know her. Sometimes, waiting for the tide to wash one to shore is better than futilely pulling oneself there.

Her concern has proven one thing to herself, which is that she cares about Jo above anything else. More than any ridiculous thought of a summer fling, more than attempts at flirting to ascertain the other woman’s feelings. If, as Jack had said, she has something vulnerable hidden in her, Yaz wants them to get to that level of trust, of friendship, where she feels safe enough to reveal those parts to her, and Yaz might finally open herself up to someone, too.

She just needs to be patient and relax.

It does not occur to her that she will not be here forever, that she has a life she is beginning to hate waiting for her back in Sheffield. The only thing she can think of is Jo, and thoughts of the woman accompany her to sleep and wander through her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments greatly appreciated! Next week I'm gonna notch that drama up even more...!!


	6. The Rocky Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is not Thursday but this is a longer chapter and then the next is a shorter follow-up, so i thought i'd post this one now and then the next on Saturday before resuming normal scheduling. I haven't proof read this very well as I'm in a rush right now, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. I really hope you enjoy this one, it's the first chapter i wrote and I think a pivotal one so... please enjoy :)
> 
> TW just to be safe: near-drowning

Yaz takes some time for herself on Sunday to clear her head of the previous night, and to make certain of what she is thinking and feeling. The fresh air she enjoys as she has breakfast at the patio table gives her clarity and solidifies her resolve.

She spends most of the day reading, onto her third book, and then takes herself for a run in the afternoon, staying far away from the village and instead going along the coastal paths which run along the coastline, passing dogwalkers with a polite ‘hello’. She does not feel like interacting with other people, and so gives herself some alone time amongst the rugged wildlife.

Her mood has brightened so that when her mum phones her in the evening, she answers with a jubilant greeting, and Najia says, “Oh, this holiday is working it’s magic, then, for you to be so happy.”

Yaz’s grin falters a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I haven’t heard you sound so carefree in ages, sweetheart. I’m glad you’re finding some peace there.”

“Oh…” Yaz says, “Did I really seem that unhappy before?”

Her mother hesitates, which tells her all she needs to know. Yaz clears her throat, her good mood sinking a bit, and traces the grain of the table she is sat at with her fingertip. “How is everyone?”

“Oh, fine, dear. Well, your dad’s got himself fixated on a new conspiracy. Something to do with lizards…”

“Oh.” Yaz says, snorting, and before she can understand it, tears are rising in her eyes and she is biting back a sob. Her mum is still chattering away on the other end, but Yaz does not hear a word she is saying. She has no idea where these tears have come from, but she holds them back, pushing down the next sob which threatens to leave her body, and lets out a long breath.

“Yaz?” Her mum is saying, and Yaz jumps.

“What did you say, mum?”

“I asked what you’ve been up to.” Najia replies. “I want to hear all about it, Yaz.”

 _Oh, I don’t think you want to hear about how I’ve been fascinated by a mysterious blonde woman all week,_ Yaz thinks. “Oh, you know, all sorts.” She says instead, as vague as possible.

“Well be a bit more specific, darling!” Najia complains.

“Reading.” Yaz replies, “I’ve got you a copy of one of the books, it’s really interesting, about the history of the place and stuff. I can have it signed, if you want. The author runs a café on the seafront….”

They chat for a while, Yaz in no way mentioning Jo in all her talk about the village. She does not want her mum to know about her yet, not when all she will read into it is Yaz’s recent break-up and how awfully abysmal everything in her life seems to be going at the moment. It feels as if imparting the words to her mum might break the spell she finds herself in, here in Kennock Cove.

When her mum leaves, complaining about some problem client at her work, Yaz wanders aimlessly around the house, feeling a little lost. She stands at the living room window, looking at the sea beyond. Her mother’s comments have dredged up the worries she is trying very hard to avoid, and yet here they sit, in the corner of each room, just out of the corner of her eye. It upsets her that her mum had noticed how unhappy she had been in the last few months, and makes them come into full view.

Groaning, Yaz pushes herself away from the window. She will go for a run; that always helps her clear her head, and she figures, the further she runs, the further behind she can leave her worries. 

* * *

Yaz tosses and turns, but it is no good, and she gives up the fight, throwing her head back against her pillow. She blindly reaches for her phone from where it sits on her bedside table, squinting at the clock.

4:45

“Fuck…” She groans, running a hand over her face.

She does not think she has slept at all, possibly the odd few minutes here and there, the night becoming one big cloying miasma around her, her sheets twisting around her legs, almost trapping her on the bed to wait out the hours she cannot find peace in sleep.

Her conversation with her mum had obviously dredged things up in her brain, disordering the neat order she had imposed on herself, or at least tried to. She does not want to think, but that is all her brain will do.

She sits up, feeling the tangled mess of her hair trailing after her, and puts her hands on her knees. She knows there is no use in wallowing in her thoughts, that will get her nowhere, and so she rises and pads down to the kitchen to fix herself some coffee.

Her mind strays to Jo whilst she waits for the kettle, deciding that she will wander down into the village later, and pop into Amy’s to ask her how the other woman is; she does not want to embarrass Jo by asking her directly, but she also wants to make her concern known.

Thoughts of Jo lead her to thoughts of the sun, and she decides she will head down to the harbour to watch the sunrise, or at least, enjoy it on the beach, as the sun will rise on the other side as it sets. She dresses quickly in comfortable clothing, not expecting to see anyone, and puts her coffee into a flask she finds in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. Grabbing her phone from upstairs, Yaz slips on her Converse and heads out of the door.

She wonders whether the walk down to the harbour will ever get boring, but she doubts it. Passing the bookshop, she allows her gaze to travel up to the apartment above, but the two small windows are both curtained, revealing nothing.

She reaches the deserted beach and sits herself down on the harbour edge, close to the coastguard station. It is weird to see the harbour at rest, the doors locked and the lights off in the shops and cafes. Yaz feels like she has gotten to the show too early, and has to sit, waiting in the auditorium, for the actors to take their places on the stage and for the show to begin.

She has almost finished her coffee, waiting in the growing light as day approaches, when she hears someone whistling behind her, and she turns to see Jack coming out of the coastguard station, uniform on, whistling happily to himself. She waits for him to spot her, and when he does, he breaks out into a wide smile, a confused frown on his face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He says, strolling over to her. Yaz stands, dusting off her trousers, leaving her flask resting at her feet.

“I came to watch the sunrise.” Yaz explains. “You start work at this time?”

“Oh, at seven.” Jack says, “But I like to get an early start. Used to be in the forces, that kind of behaviour kind of gets ingrained into you.”

Yaz nods. Looking at him stood next to her, toned muscles and sharp jawline, she can imagine he would have fit very well in the forces. The two stand in a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the waves caress the sand, manic movement meeting still serenity. The tide is on its way out, and so most of the beach is consumed by the waves at present, but a small stretch of sand clings desperately to the harbour’s edge.

“Jack…” Yaz begins to ask, and the man hums to connote he is listening. “…How did you know when you wanted a change in career?”

He considers this for a long moment, staring out at the wide expanse of water in front of them, diving the depths of his own mind for the answer. “I’d had enough of the military if you want it summed up in a nutshell. Seen too much, done too much. I wanted more fun, to live a little… see new places and try new things.” He turns to look at her, a light smile on his face. “This isn’t the first place I’ve been, and it might not be the last, but I have to say this job, this village, it’s much more exciting than it looks from the outset.”

Yaz nods, swallow back the panic which threatened to rise in her chest. Jack’s words had eerily echoed her own thoughts, and to hear a similar experience from someone who had taken the leap and made a drastic life change… Yaz glances up at the coastline above the beach, the sharp cliff edge. Yes. That is what it feels like: being on the cliff edge.

“Oh, Yaz, you’re in luck.” Jack murmurs in her ear, and Yaz jumps, looking to him in confusion before he points at something moving along the beach towards the sea about one hundred metres from them. Yaz’s heart jumps in her chest when she realises it is Jo, dressed in a pair of black shorts which cling to her legs and white long-sleeved shirt.

“She’s up early.” Yaz observes, as they watch the blonde woman edge her way into the water, the line of her shoulders tense as her body reacts to the cold water.

“So are you.” Jack observes, watching her watch Jo. “Why _are_ you up so early?”

“Oh.” Yaz laughs lightly, trying to shrug off the question. “Your body gets used to early shifts; it becomes quite hard to shake the routine of getting up before dawn.” Jack nods, and the two settle back into watching Jo.

“Where’s she going…” Jack mutters, and Yaz, too, is confused. Jo is, strangely, no longer heading out into the sea, but instead wading through the shallows towards the outlay of rocks Yaz had sat upon the other day, talking to Bill. The sea is rougher where the current meets the earth, and anyone, no matter their swimming ability, would be advised against swimming in such a rough.

“She going to be alright?” Yaz asks him, but Jack does not answer, watching the other woman in the distance very carefully.

“Why is she doing that?” He asks. “Jo’s not stupid, she’d know not to swim there.”

Yaz can feel adrenaline begin to work its way through her veins, Jack’s tense tone unsettling. He shouts out for the other woman, and Yaz winces as it breaks the early morning peace which still sits over the village like a shroud. Jo does not hear him, or she pretends not to, but picks a careful path across the rocks, keeping close to the coastline, moving carefully to avoid any slippery spots spoiled by seaweed. Jack shouts her name again, striding onto the beach. Yaz follows, her heart beginning to thump in her chest as it becomes clear something is terribly wrong.

“What is she staring at?” She asks, as they watch the woman come to a stop on the edge of the rocky outlay, looking down into the water, seemingly contemplating it.

“I don’t know but she needs to get away from there now before the tides sweeps her away.” Jack says, but before he can think to call the other woman again, let alone set off across the beach towards her, Jo has dived into the water.

Yaz does not think. She just runs.

She can feel herself shuck off her jacket, leaving it discarded on the sand. She can hear Jack calling for her, but she is too far gone, mind settling into a familiar mode of thought: act now, save a life. She stops only for a moment, at the edge of the water, to kick her shoes off, before she is wading into the ocean, and diving below the surface.

She swims around the rocks, arms burning with the energy as her muscles desperately work against the current. Despite ridding herself of the heaviest items, she can still feel herself being weighed down by her sodden clothes, but Yaz has years of police training on her side, and it works for her and against the harsh current as she navigates the rocky shore, desperately searching for any sign of Jo.

She gets hit by a large wave, and she braces herself by pushing below it until it passes. When she next comes to the surface for air, she spots a streak of blonde to her left. Yaz instantly springs into action.

The blonde disappears as another wave, smaller this time, hits both their bodies, but Yaz fights it and forces herself to keep moving. Her hands move through the water, desperately hoping she will feel a solid body under her grip. She rises to the surface again, and she frantically reaches out when she sees that flash of blonde hair once again. Soft skin meets her grip, and she does not think twice, pulling Jo closer to her and dragging both of them away from the rocks with a desperate effort from her kicking legs.

There is no time for embarrassment, or any thoughts about the body beneath her grip other than to keep it gripped firmly against her own and lead it away from the rocks. Jo is offering no movement of her own, which sends an electric thrill of terror to Yaz’s core, and she forces her legs to keep moving, to work quicker as she navigates her way back towards the beach.

“Yaz!” She hears a voice call as she comes up for air, and she desperately blinks salt water out of her eyes as she sees Jack, stood in the shallows, throw a circular lifebuoy in her direction. Yaz throws her spare arm out and grabs at it, securing it through her right side as her left still supports Jo.

Jack pulls on the rope attached to the lifebuoy, and Yaz helps him out with a few weak kicks, but allows him to take the brunt of her and Jo’s combined weight as he pulls them to shore. Once they are close enough, he discards the rope and instead runs forward and takes the weight of Jo’s body from Yaz, hooking his hands under her arms and dragging her up and onto the beach.

Yaz takes a moment to kneel in the water, hoisting the lifebuoy off her and letting it float in the shallows. Her breaths are ragged, and her muscles feel like they are on fire, but she cannot stop, she must force her muscle into moving, despite their screaming protests, to make sure that Jo is not-

“Is she-?” She forces herself to rasp as she slogs her way out of the water, her trousers feeling like lead weights on her legs. She must still have salt water in her eyes, her eyesight blurry and eyes stinging as she tries to make out Jack and Jo in front of her. She wipes at them desperately with her hands, making her way to Jo’s side and sinking onto her knees.

Relief flows through her veins, warming her up from the inside, as Jack moves to support Jo and turn her head to the side as the woman convulses, vomiting up seawater. Her body shudders with shivers, her breathing ragged. Yaz’s can hear her own hoarse breathing in her ears, matching Jo’s, and she can sympathise with how terrible the other woman must be feeling. But she is alive, and that is what matters right now. Yaz can feel herself slump into the sand, the adrenaline dying down and leaving sheer exhaustion in its wake.

“Does anything hurt, Jo?” Jack asks, looking to woman over as he helps her sit up, her upper body slumping over her legs, a shaky hand running fingers through tangled hair. Jo shakes her head but allows Jack to quickly look her over, supporting her head with one hand, and then the other, as Jack respectfully manipulates her limbs, checking for injuries. Yaz can see cuts and bruises, a particularly nasty one on her right calf, but apart from that, she has made a lucky escape from anything serious, it seems. She just looks shaken and dazed.

“No, nothing serious I can see, but I’ve radioed Martha, she should be here soon.” Jack says, kneeling up on his haunches on the other side of Jo to Yaz. “Jo, what were you _thinking?”_

“I-I,” the woman stutters, and it is quite disturbing to see her fumbling for her words. She wonders whether it is the cold or shock setting in; most likely it is a mixture of both. “I don’t think I was.”

“Well, thank god you’re alright.” Jack says, and then gestures to Yaz. “And thank god Yaz here is such a maniac as to dive in after you without thinking twice!”

Jo looks at Yaz, then, and Yaz offers a weak smile. Jo considers her for a long while, still breathing heavily, eyes slightly glazed, and Yaz hopes her face is open and non-judgemental; she does not want this woman to think she is judging her for her decision to dive in at the rocky end, no matter how perplexing the choice was. All Yaz feels is concern, and the slight curiosity which has plagued her ever since she first set eyes on Jo.

Jo must be reassured by what she sees, as she eventually offers Yaz a small smile back in return. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” She jokes, and Yaz lets out a ragged laugh.

“Well, specifically like this, yeah! Or else, I think Jack might kill us both!” Yaz says, and she thinks the adrenaline is making her tongue loose, as talking to Jo does not seem awkward now, it feels like a relief in the light of what could have been a fatal incident.

Jack offers them both a charming smile in return. “If I wasn’t so concerned with saving lives, then yeah, I would.” His radio crackles then, a voice speaking. Jack jumps to his feet, bending down to hook a hand under Jo’s arm. “That’s Martha. Let’s get you to the station. Can you walk okay?”

Jo nods, and carefully rises to her feet. Yaz supports her on her other side, and the three of them make their slow way back up the beach and to the coastguard station. Yaz does not comment when Jo suddenly turns her head to look behind them, staring at the rocks from which she had not long ago jumped, and instead focusses on leading her forwards.

“Jack, you wouldn’t happen to have some spare clothing at the station, would you?” She asks. 

* * *

Yaz makes her way to medical room, clean and dry rid of her sopping wet clothes, which now sit in a plastic bag which Yaz lets swing as she navigates the station. She is wearing a coastguard uniform, a blue polo t-shirt embroidered with the coastguard logo and black trousers which remind her of her police uniform, and she sticks her spare hand in the pocket, already feeling in a calmer and assured mindset.

She had allowed herself to let loose for a moment as she stood under the warm spray of the shower in the bathroom, allowed the weight of what had happened to fall over her like a heavy blanket. She had carefully processed it and allowed it to scream out at her before she calmed herself down. The sudden incident had allowed her to confront her worries of the night before as well, the whole becoming easier to shepherd behind the mental walls she has so carefully taught herself to construct, rather than chasing down each and every thought individually. She feels strong enough now to seek out Jo and make sure she is alright, her thoughts immediately straying to the woman the moment she had sorted herself out.

Her muscles ache like nothing she has felt before as she descends the stairs from the first floor, where, as she had found out, the staffroom and bathrooms are situated. She hesitates for a moment, and when she listens hard, she can hear voices, and so she follows their call right, down a blank corridor, until she comes to an ajar door.

“I really don’t get why I’m having to explain this to you. You _know_ you never dive from there!” She can Jack’s voice say, catching at exasperation.

“Jack, please, keep it calm.” Another voice Yaz does not recognise says.

“I am, I just-” He pauses, and Yaz moves closer to the ajar door, which has ‘medical’ embossed on the front on a plaque. “Jo, was it anything to do-”

“No, it was just a silly mistake.” Jo insists, her voice firm.

“I don’t want to probe this issue, but-” Jack continues, but Jo cuts him off, and Yaz can hear her tone getting more and more irritated.

“Jack, it was a _mistake!_ Nothing more!” She insists.

Yaz hears Jack sigh, and she decides to assert her presence before the conversation can escalate any further. She taps on the door with her knuckles and pokes her head around the doorframe.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” She says. Jo is sat atop an examination bed, dressed as Yaz is in a spare coastguard uniform. She looks pale and haggard and slightly irritated, staring down at her lap as a woman by her side, with slicked backed hair and a serious expression, takes her pulse. Martha, Yaz assumes. Jack is leaning against the wall, a foot propped up against it, arms crossed, and staring at Jo, concerned. He turns to look at Yaz as she enters, his expression immediately turning to a bright smile.

“You feel better, Yaz?” He asks. She shoots him a smile back.

“Yes. Much. Thanks for the clothes.” She says.

“No problem.” He gestures to the woman stood by Jo. “Yaz, this is Martha Jones, our medic. She works at the hospital in Truro, but she volunteers here, as well. Luckily we caught her before her day shift.”

“Hi,” Martha says, stepping away from Jo to shake Yaz’s hand. She smiles politely, and Yaz is instantly put at ease by the woman’s calm demeanour and genuine smile. “Heard what you did for Jo, here, and I’ve got to say, that sort of bravery isn’t common.”

“Oh,” Yaz waves away her admiration. “I’m a police officer, I’m used to it.”

Martha’s eyebrows raise. “If you say so. That’s very…”

“Badass.” Jack says nodding.

Martha laughs and gestures to him as she steps towards an open bag which rests on a chair, zipping it up. “Got it in one.”

“We could use someone like you here, Yaz.” Jack says. “Although, you’d have to train, and no more spontaneous rescues without checking in with the team first.”

Yaz makes to tell him she is only here on holiday, but something stops her, and then the moment is lost once Martha picks up her bag, turning to speak to Jo.

“Well, Jo, you’re suffering from mild shock, and apart from a few bruises and cuts which I’ve cleaned, you’re fine. No concussion, no hypothermia. You got lucky. Just keep an eye on those cuts, especially that one on your calf, and get plenty of rest. And eat, please, both of you.” She says, turning to Yaz to, winking. She checks her watch, grimacing. “And speaking of day shifts, I really must go, or else I’ll be late.” She makes for the door but pauses and turns to Jo once more. “It might be best if you’re not alone for bit. Could Amy stay with you for a bit?”

Jo winces. “Amy’s got work, I couldn’t-”

“I can stay with ya?” Yaz offers before she can even properly register the words have left her mouth. “That is, if you want me to? I’ve got nothing to do. Besides, I could do with some company, too.”

She speaks the truth, her brain telling her it would be best if she were not alone for the time being, her nerves still slightly raw around the edges. And, although she will not admit so to herself, being offered the chance to spend the day with the woman in front of her is an opportunity she does not want to pass up.

Everyone looks expectantly at Jo. The woman falters for a moment, licking her lips, before she nods, smiling at Yaz. “Yeah, sure. If you’d like.”

“Fab, now, I _really_ have to go.” Martha says, and with hurried goodbyes between them all, she is out the door. 

“You gotta work today, Jo?” Jack asks, and the other woman shakes her head.

“No, Grace is covering the shop today.” She replies, sounding exhausted, shoulders slumped.

“Then get yourself home. I’ll give you a text later?”

Jo nods, hopping off the examination table and immediately wincing. The cut on her leg must be hurting her.

Jack waves both women off from the station door as they step out into the street. It is much later into the morning now, and the village has come to life, shops open and a few tourists straggling about the place. Yaz squints into the bright sunlight, and spots Oscar watching them from his point on the edge of the jetty, eyes roaming over their clothing, curious. She decides to ignore him.

“Back to yours then?” She asks Jo.

“Yeah, if you’re alright with that?” Yaz shrugs, and Jo nods, beginning to lead her away from the coastguard station and towards the centre of the village. She halts suddenly and turns to Yaz. “Just to warn ya, I left it in a bit of a mess.”

Yaz laughs at the genuine embarrassment on Jo’s face and immediately tries to reassure her.

“Mate, I’m a police officer, I’m sure I’ve seen way worse.” 

* * *

Jo’s home is nowhere near as messy as she had alluded to it being, although Yaz has to admit that it is rather cluttered. Jo had her to the shop, past a concerned Grace organising books in the corner, and into a backroom, in the corner of which a small door opened onto a steep staircase. Up that, and they reached Jo’s home.

“This is very cosy.” Yaz remarks as she looks around the place, gingerly placing her bag of wet clothing by the front door. And it is, indeed, very cosy. The front door opens immediately onto the front room, where a cushy purple sofa sits against the wall facing a television, and a small dining table sits in the other side of the room, a small hatch in the wall behind that giving Yaz a glimpse of a kitchen. An open doorway leads out into a corridor, through which she supposes one must reach the kitchen, as well as the bedroom and bathroom. There are some cardboard boxes stacked in a corner, but what strikes Yaz most is the number of books scattered about the place. Stacked onto the dining table, spilling out of the two small bookshelves which frame the television and onto the floor surrounding it. She finds herself instantly comfortable in the space.

“Cheers.” Jo says. She had moved through into the kitchen whilst Yaz was surveying her home, and now her head pokes through the hatch. She looks at Yaz a little hesitantly, obviously trying to find the words she wants to say. Yaz remains silent and lets her have a moment to think it through. A slight awkwardness hangs between them, settling on the room like the dust that coats the surfaces. “Thank you. for earlier. I haven’t had a chance to properly say it yet, but…. I don’t think I’d be in quite as good a condition had it not been for you.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Yaz says, jumping to reassure her, noticing Jo’s cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Something pangs in Yaz’s stomach, and she continues speaking, desperate to wipe the self-consciousness from Jo’s face. “We all do silly things, sometimes.” Her awkward flirting of a few days ago comes to mind.

Jo flushes even darker red, and Yaz realises her mistake the moment the woman opens her mouth. “Listen, Yaz, about Saturday-”

“Oh, no, I didn’t meant that!” Yaz says, cutting her off. “I didn’t- I wasn’t referring to that.”

“I’d just had a bit too much to drink.” Jo says, offering her a weak smile.

“It’s fine.” Yaz tells her assuredly. She licks her lips, daring to add. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Jo falters, mouth opening and closing, blinking rapidly. Something crosses across her face, but Yaz could not name what it was. Finally, she says, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Yaz answers, openly and honestly. This is what she has been wanting for the last few days, happening naturally, nothing forced. “I still do, if that’s okay?”

There it is, an admittance of interest in the other woman, in wanting to know her and for her to know Yaz, and there is not much else Yaz can do; it is up to Jo now as to whether she accepts it or not.

Jo considers her for a moment, looking at Yaz as if is seeing her for the first time. Yaz keeps her face neutral, friendly, even as her heart beats furiously in her chest. Finally, Jo nods, a small smile on her face, and Yaz notices her hands uncurl from where they had been grasping the ends of her borrowed top.

“Tea, Yaz?” Jo asks, and Yaz understands that what she means is she accepts Yaz’s offer of friendship, and she is welcoming her to stay in her home. She smiles.

“Yes please! I can always do it if you wanted to shower?” Yaz offers, and she really does not mind. She feels elated, full of air, that feeling of kinship when one connects with another human filling her.

Jo begins to protest, but then looks down at her odd attire and hesitates. “Well, I didn’t get a chance at the station…”

“I did.” Yaz says, stepping forwards, closer to the hatch. “Seriously, I don’t mind if you wanted to. I can make breakfast, too, if you have anything in?”

Jo hesitates once again, but Yaz can see she wants to say yes. “Well… alright, if you’re sure. I really need to get my contacts out.” She says, a finger tentatively coming up to her eye. “Help yourself, there’s all sorts in the cupboards. Grace bombards me with lots every week.”

Yaz laughs and watches the other women as she heads out of the kitchen and across the hall, bathroom door closing behind her. Yaz takes a moment, stood in an unfamiliar kitchen with an unfamiliar smell, to wonder how so much could have happened in one day and it only still be morning. Still, events could have played out much worse than her cooking in the kitchen of a woman who she had saved, and in turn spared them both the threat of drowning in unknown waters from acting too rashly. Yaz is here, in Jo’s home, and the woman is trusting her, she seems to like Yaz, and something warm settles in her heart. Something comforting.

Yaz smiles and gets to work routing around the kitchen cupboards in the search for food. Fried egg sandwich sounds like perfection right about now. Jo would like that, too, wouldn’t she? 

* * *

“Yaz, this is amazin’!” Jo exclaims half an hour later, sitting crossed legged on her sofa, munching on her fried egg sandwich. Yaz is sat across from her, devouring her own, and she has to agree she has done a superb job on this breakfast meal. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a fried sandwich as good as this!”

“I’m not a woman of many talents but cooking breakfast foods is one of them.” Yaz says, raising her mug of tea at Jo before taking a sip. She feels so at ease, so unlike the awkward ball of nervousness she had been around the other woman during her disastrous attempt at flirting.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Jo says as she takes another bite. “… You said you were a police officer?” 

She seems genuinely curious, and there is not a hint of judgement in her tone. As she sits there, across from Yaz, in old sweatpants and a university sweater, damp blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, wisps falling in front of her face, adorned with glasses, Yaz feels instantly at ease with letting this woman into her life.

“Yeah, in Sheffield.” Yaz says, and Jo’s eyes widen with surprise, and Yaz worries the woman might choke on her sandwich.

“You’re kiddin’ me! I used to live in Sheffield!” She says, and Yaz feels her own eyes widen.

“What are the chances!” She leaves room for Jo to explain more about her own life in Sheffield, but when the woman does not offer anything else, simply shaking her head at the strange coincidence, Yaz goes on. “I needed a bit of a break, though, which is why I’m here. Plus, I’d just broken up with my girlfriend…”

Jo’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and she fumbles a little with her sandwich, but Yaz cannot be sure whether she was seeing things or not, because very quickly Jo’s face is scrunching in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, that must have been tough.” She says.

Yaz makes to nod but catches herself. Instead, she shrugs and says, “It wasn’t so bad. I’d… fallen out of love with her, if I’m honest. Things were not going anywhere, and we barely spent any time with each other because of our jobs, and that flame just… extinguished.”

Jo nods, not noticing the yoke dripping onto her fingers from her sandwich, watching Yaz closely, brow creased in sympathy. Yaz smiles at her, and hopes to lighten the mood as she says, “But, still, nice to have some time off, and here is as beautiful a place as I can imagine.”

“Yes, it is beautiful. Gorgeous, really…” Jo says, slightly wistful. She jumps as her fingers twitch against the eggy substance dripping onto them, and she tuts, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking the yoke away.

Yaz has to look away, cheeks turning red. She will not soon get the image of Jo licking the yoke off her fingers from her mind. She gulps at her tea, desperately trying to hide her face.

“So, go on then. Why _did_ you jump in by the rock?” Yaz asks, desperately thinking of something to cover her own awkwardness and not entirely thinking about what it is she is asking. She instantly cringes when she sees Jo shuffle uncomfortably in her seat, and she goes to reassure her that she does not have to answer, but Jo speaks before she can.

“Oh, I just had a silly moment where I thought it wouldn’t be so bad.” She shrugs, looking down at the plate in her hands. She stuffs the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, depositing her plate on the small coffee table in front of them and picking up her mug of tea, embracing it in both hands as she leans back against the sofa. Yaz nods awkwardly, sending her a quick smile before she, too finishes off her sandwich. She copies Jo’s movement, leaning back against the sofa and making herself appear relaxed, even as embarrassment still sits within her and curiosity rages as Jo remains elusive.

“You got any good stories?” Jo asks. “Any funny cases you’ve seen in the field?”

“Oh, mate,” Yaz says, feeling comfortable with the question. Funny copper stories she can do. “Where do I begin?” 

* * *

Yaz does not know how long she talks, but the time seems to fly by as she recounts her funniest stories from when she was first on the beat in her early years. Her most recent experiences are not ones she wishes to repeat to anyone, but the fond memories she has from when she was younger and hopeful and full of passion for her job puts her on familial territory and stirs only feelings of nostalgia and happiness in her chest. She does mind imparting them to Jo, and she slowly feels her embarrassment fade as she watches Jo react to her stories, laughing at times, but mainly watching Yaz with a tired smile on her face.

“So, we’re in hot pursuit, and it’s like a scene from a movie! I’m shouting at people to move as we race through the city centre. Nigel almost trips a couple times, but he’s never been the most agile of people. Anyway, the perp’s ahead of us, and he’s almost out of our grip when suddenly, this old lady trips him with her walking stick, and he goes sprawling to the ground. Honestly, you should have seen her face, she looked so proud, and a crowd of people formed and were applauding her-” Yaz cuts off when she looks over to Jo when the expected laugh does not come. She falters, the words dying on her lips as she realises the other woman is asleep, head resting at an awkward angle against the sofa back, cup of tea perilously close to spilling in her lap. Yaz had been so wrapped in her story she had not noticed.

She very carefully prises the cup of tea from Jo’s limp fingers, placing it on the coffee table. She rises from the sofa and bites her lip. Jo needs to sleep, that much is certain, but this does not seem to be a very comfortable position in which to do so, and Yaz does not want her to have a crick in her neck when she wakes up. Indecision wars in her, and she decides to push away her awkwardness borne of affection and adopts the caring police officer attitude; that always helps her when she is feeling unsure of herself.

She very gently straightens Jo’s legs out, and then prompts her to move down further onto the sofa. Jo stirs, and Yaz tenses, watching her face very carefully for signs of consciousness.

Jo frowns, but her eyes remain closed. She mutters something, although Yaz does not catch it. She shifts, and Yaz uses that as her chance to guide the other woman down so that her head rests on the sofa arm, hands resting on her stomach. Yaz reaches very carefully for her glasses and pulls them off her face, setting them down on the coffee table. Jo shifts subconsciously in her sleep, and Yaz steps back once she is reassured the other woman is in a much more comfortable position.

She hesitates slightly as she decides what to do. She does not wish to abandon Jo, but she also does not know how long the other woman might be asleep, and she cannot think which is worse: staying and waiting for her to wake up, when that could be hours from now, might seem very overbearing, but leaving without an explanation, for Jo to wake up to an empty flat when she was pushed to not be alone might come off as quite uncaring. Yaz sighs, an idea forming in her mind.

She feels slightly guilty as she routes around Jo’s things in search of a pen and paper, but luckily, she does not have to search far, locating a biro and post-it notes on the kitchen counter. She jots down a quick explanation, and then leaves her phone number down below with a smiley face. Jo can text her if she needs anything.

She sticks the note to the coffee table top, so that hopefully Jo will see it when she wakes, and leaves the flat as quietly as she can, picking up her plastic bag of wet clothes as she goes, the image of the other woman sleeping peacefully lingering in her mind long after she has closed the door behind her and descended the stairs. 

* * *

Yaz pads into the bedroom, coastguard uniform discarded in the bathroom and sweatpants and t-shirt now adorning her body. With a sigh, she flumps back onto the bed.

She had got caught by Grace on her way out of the shop, and the other woman had stopped only for a moment to tell her that she had heard what happened, and to thank Yaz for her quick action. She had said she was not surprised that Yaz was so able, but, and maybe Yaz is reading too much into it, something born of her developing relationship with Jo, she had also eluded to the fact that it was good that _Yaz_ had been the one to help Jo out. Yaz had left quickly, excusing herself and pleading her exhaustion.

Yaz mind wanders back to the hoodie Jo had been wearing, and the university logo emblazoned on it. Perhaps she could…

She looks to her laptop, sat on the bedside table, and taps her fingers lightly against her thigh. The temptation to look Jo up on the university website, see if she gets any results pesters her like a small insect.

No. she shakes her head. That would feel like she would be going behind Jo’s back, and to do so, so soon after they have confirmed friendship, does not sound like a wholly trustworthy thing to do. If the woman has something she wants to tell Yaz, she will.

Before she knows it, Yaz is slipping into sleep, the sound of the waves outside her open window lulling her into unconsciousness, too exhausted to dream of anything but Jo’s face when she had offered Yaz’s hand of friendship, soft and smiling and touched. 

" />

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think, and if you're feeling generous please leave me a comment or kudos (or both!)  
> Also I've kept forgetting to put this but you can find me on Tumblr at Walker-Lister, please send me a message or give me a follow- i'd love to speak to more people in the fandom and get to know people a little better :) 
> 
> See you on Saturday :)


	7. 'No Worries'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late (technically it's just gone midnight here so it's not actually Saturday anymore but...); I've been feeling ill all day and only remembered I needed to post this about 30 mins ago because of that! Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter, it was really interesting to see what everyone thought! This one I remember when writing was frustrating because it follows such a dramatic scene and so i felt like whatever i wrote just wouldn't be as exciting, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)
> 
> TW: brief mention of past domestic abuse of a side character (a case from Yaz's past in the police force); i will add this to the tags accordingly

_A small apartment, shrouded in darkness and the wisps of memories which float like clouds around Yaz’s dream, sits before Yaz, the four walls a prison, closing in on all sides._

_A woman sits in front of her, shoulders hunched, hands clasped together as if in prayer. To whom? Yaz does not know, but the woman looks as if she would pray to any deity at that moment just to release her from her jail without bars._

_Yaz, supposes, is the angel, come to whisk her away._

_Except, the angel is late, and the tears which carve their way down the woman’s cheeks seem to laugh at her, mocking her tardiness. There is blood on the woman’s cheek, her lip, mixing with those tears, singing a harmony of pain. Yaz tries to reach out for the woman, but she cannot find her arms, does not know how to propel herself forward. She is caught in another realm; an apparition forced only to watch, and not to interfere. Not to help._

_She tries calling out, but that is no good either. A man stands to the side of her, in the same uniform as she. Nigel. Her shift partner. He bleeds from his arm, and the blood increases, and Yaz longs to press against the wound, stop the bleeding, but she is helpless._

_Or, rather, she is useless because she cannot help._

_The woman screams, then, gutturally, her insides churning up, and Yaz cannot do anything but listen to her siren’s call, etched with grief and misery and terror._

_And Yaz had been too late._

Yaz wakes, shouting into a quiet bedroom, gasping as she feels the soft sheets under her body, ears ringing at her sudden departure from sleep. She focusses on her breathing for a few minutes until it calms; she has had this nightmare before, many times, but not recently. It must have been Jo’s incident that stirred those memories in her mind…

The full remembrance of the previous day’s events comes slamming back into her, and Yaz sits further up on the bed, placing her forearms on her knees. She has no idea what time it is, but darkness reigns outside the window, Yaz must have forgotten to close the curtains, practically collapsing into unconsciousness when she had returned to the cottage.

Her phone buzzes on the bedside table next to her, and Yaz frowns, reaching out a hand to blindly grab for it. The time reads 00:30, and a text has just come through from an unknown number. It reads: ‘Thank you. 😊 Jo.’

Yaz jolts as she reads the name, remembering, through a sleepy fog, leaving the woman her number when she had fallen asleep on her couch. Very strange that she is texting Yaz now, at gone midnight. Maybe she has also just awoken, sleep pattern disrupted.

Something niggles in the back of Yaz’s a mind, a hunch, an intuition, and she sits up, sliding off the bed and walking over to the window. She is greeted with a stark bright moon, which throws its silvery light over the village and beach below, the sea becoming, instead of an expanse of calm peace, a black mass, indistinguishable from the sky above it. Yaz peers down, but she cannot see the beach properly from the bedroom, and so she makes her way downstairs, slipping on her slightly sodden and sandy converses, which sit by the door, and cracks open the front door, padding down to the garden wall.

Yes. There she is. Yaz’s hunch has paid off.

Jo is sat on the rocky outlay, back turned to Yaz, as usual. Yaz frowns, wondering why the woman would choose to sit on the scene of her incident of the day before, and something concerned pangs in her stomach. She rushes back inside, grabbing her keys and closing the door, marching off.

She reaches the beach in record time, and is relieved when she spots Jo, still in the same position. She slows her pace, letting out a few long breaths, slightly winded, and approaches her almost cautiously.

“Hi.”

Jo jumps, looking up at Yaz in alarm. When she recognises her, she smiles, although she looks slightly confused.

“Oh, hi, Yaz…” She sits a little bit upright, and Yaz notices she is wearing the same clothes as earlier, hands curled into the ends of her sleeves. “What are you doing here?”

“I got your text.” Yaz says, holding up her phone. “And… I had a hunch you might be here. Can’t sleep?”

Jo falters slightly before wincing and shaking her head.

“Me either.” Yaz admits. “Can I?” She asks, gesturing to the space next to Jo. Jo nods, and Yaz seats herself down on the rocks, jumping slightly at the cold which seeps through her trousers and to her skin. The two women sit in silence for a moment, Yaz’s eyes trailing over the darkened harbour, Jo looking down at her hands in her lap. Yaz feels something brave stir in her chest, nudging at her, telling her to confide in this woman.

“I had an incident once,” Yaz says, and she feels Jo turn to look at her. “This woman… she was stuck in this abusive relationship with this absolute…” She trails off, curling her hands into fists. “We got a call from a neighbour, noise complaint. I went there with my shift partner, Nigel, and of course this guy opens the door like nothing is happening, all apologetic, trying to be friendly, but this woman… she must have been so terrified, so pushed past her breaking point, she just screamed. The guy tries to make a run for it, but we block the doorway, and then suddenly he’s got a knife, and he stabs at Nigel, catching his arm. It was just us, there was no other officers in the area, we thought it was simply a neighbourhood disturbance. Nigel’s bleeding, proper like, but he assures me he’s fine, says he’ll call for back up, I should look in on the woman. So, I go in, and…”

Yaz’s fists are so clenched she can feel her fingernails digging into her palms. Jo is still watching her patiently, pale face catching at the moonlight.

“She were so beaten. He’d done awful things, terrible things. And the worst part? I’d visited a few times on noise complaints, been in a handful of times, and hadn’t noticed anything. Only when it was too late, and he’d beaten her to a pulp, did I realise. I’m trained for that, and yet I could not see it. He was a psychopath, a proper clever one, knew how to cover his tracks. And I couldn’t save her… not really.”

“She’s alright now?” Jo asks quietly.

Yaz shrugs, sitting upright, releasing her now aching hands. “She’s safe, but alright? No…”

“And the man? Did you get him in the end?”

Yaz lets out a bitter laugh. “Idiot had tripped over his laces when getting away from us and fell down the stairs of his apartment block. He couldn’t move for a broken leg when the backup arrived. He’s locked up now.” Yaz swallows back memories of the trial, her testimony. “I can’t get the memory of that case out of my brain.” She laughs self-deprecatingly, running a hand through her hair. “I think I’ve lost faith in my job, in why I do it and what it all means.” She turns to Jo, who is still watching, a small crease in her brow, and looks her in the eye. “I don’t know what to do.”

Yaz closes her mouth, looking away from Jo as she realises how much she has just admitted to, how much she has opened up; she has not done so with another person in so long. In fact, the last person had been-

She coughs, clears her throat. “Sorry, that were all a bit-”

“Life is short,” Jo says, interjecting, her gaze lost to the sea which looms, a dark mass in front of them. “When you’ve got the opportunity to take control of it, decide your own destiny, you should grab at that with both hands.” She looks at Yaz, her eyes hooded in the scant light, and Yaz cannot make out the expression on her face. “You never know when the choice might get taken away from you.”

Yaz stares at her, perplexed, a million questions on the tip of her tongue. She could push now, she knows, ask Jo what is keeping her awake, apart from yesterday’s incident, but Jo speaks again before she can, “I’m sorry to hear that happened, Yaz. You don’t deserve that.”

She smiles softly at Yaz, and Yaz feels the sides of her mouth pick up in a smile of her own. Jo’s words… they sit in her chest like a soft warm stone, comforting and weighty, filled with a deeper meaning to Yaz. She feels her smile grow brighter.

Jo seems to remember something, and she speaks, tone brighter, making a strange, sharp contrast to her wistful tone of before. “Oh, Amy wants to kiss you, by the way.”

“Excuse me?” Yaz says.

“Oh, no, she doesn’t want to _actually_ kiss you,” Jo adds. “But she’s giving you free pastries for life, for what you did for me.”

Yaz opens her mouth in delighted surprise. “That’s very nice of her.”

Jo shrugs. “She says it’s the least she can do.” She laughs then, a harsh sound, and turns to Yaz. “She came marching over to mine as soon as Jack told her what had happened. Woke me up and proceeded to shout at me for being so stupid.”

Yaz laughs, aware Jo is probably simplifying the situation. She is sure Amy was caught half between anger and half between concern, but the story has the desired effect of easing the mood. The darkness around them might be oppressive but the air between them is lighter.

“I were gonna head there in the morning, actually, for breakfast, if you wanted to join me?” Jo suggests. “You won’t have to pay.” She adds to try and convince Yaz, but the other woman needs no more encouragement.

“I’d love to.” 

* * *

“Yasmin Khan!” A voice calls out, and before Yaz can even think about where it might have come from a fast-moving streak of ginger comes towards her and gathers her into a hug.

“How do you know my whole name?” Yaz asks Amy as the woman squeezes her tightly. She smells like cinnamon and coffee beans.

“Never you mind that, what’s important is I am forever in your debt.” Amy says, finally releasing Yaz but keeping her hands on her shoulders, smiling down at her. “Thank you for what you did.”

“It’s fine.” Yaz waves her off. “More than fine. I’m a police officer, I’m trained to cope well in a crisis.”

“A police officer, eh?” Amy says, raising her eyebrows at Yaz as she strides across the café floor and rounds the counter. She grins a mischievous grin. “I was a police officer once. Well, I dressed as one.”

“What’s she trying to tell you, Yaz, is that she was a kissogram.” Jo says, and Yaz jumps to see her seated at a table in the far corner, watching them with a cup of tea in hand.

“Yes? And?” Amy says, pouring boiling water into a teapot. “Worked, didn’t it? Got me a husband.”

“Oh, Pond, Rory was enamoured with you long before your kissogram days.” Jo says with a cocked eyebrow. Yaz smiles at the interaction between the two old friends.

“One cup of tea for madame.” Amy says, carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, teacup and small jug of milk and placing it at Jo’s table. She gestures to Yaz when the other woman does not move. “Go on get your backside down there.”

“Oh, right.” Yaz says, catching on. “Thank you.”

“I’ll fix you a pastry. What would you like? Cinnamon swirl? Pain au chocolat?” Amy offers.

“Ooh, Yaz, have the pain au chocolat, it’s amazin’.” Jo chimes in as Yaz slides into the seat diagonally across from her. It is a four-seater table, and Yaz does not want to crowd.

“Sounds good to me.” She says with a smile, and Amy whisks herself away to the kitchen. “But shouldn’t we be having traditional Cornish pasties, or something?”

Jo pulls a face. “You can do, but I’m all about sugar, me. Unless you have a sweet Cornish pasty, but I have a feeling that might be considered sacrilege.”

Yaz laughs as she pours herself a cup of tea.

“Did you get any more sleep?” Yaz asks conversationally as Jo nibbles at a pastry. Pain au chocolat, Yaz realises.

The other woman shakes her head. “No.” She says through her mouthful. “Did you?”

Yaz shrugs. “I dozed a bit, but nothing proper. Feels like I’ve just done a night shift, my muscles ache something wicked.”

Jo makes a sympathetic face at that, taking a gulp of tea. Oscar strolls in at that moment, hands in pockets, and his gaze roams the room like a predator searching out prey. His eyes light up when he spots Jo, and he swans over. At the souring of Jo’s expression, Yaz turns, and she grits her teeth, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she spots the man swaggering towards them.

“Well, well, well.” Oscar says, and Jo stiffens in her chair. “Let me know the next time you decide to throw yourself from the rocks Jo, I’d love to come and watch.”

“Maybe you could participate?” Jo suggests, jaw clenched. She rolls her eyes at Yaz.

“Why would I throw myself in when it is so nice to watch you do it to yourself.” He says, titling his head to the side.

Jo curls her lip, and she goes to retaliate, but Amy, who has seemingly appeared from nowhere, gets there before her, “I’m sure we could muster up some volunteers to throw you in Oscar. If I put the word out now, give it an hour and there’d be a whole crowd ready to see you flap about in the water.”

She puts Yaz’s order of a pain au chocolat down in front of Yaz, shooting Oscar a sickly-sweet smile as she does, whilst the man seethes, stood very still. Jo pulls a face at Yaz, eyebrows raised, stuffing another piece of pain au chocolat in her mouth. Yaz cannot contain her small giggle.

Oscar seems to be ramping up to say something, hands routinely curling and uncurling into fists at his side. Amy waits for him to reply, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the table. Her face seems to say ‘I am waiting.’

“I might not be respected by you and your gossipy old villagers, but at least I respect myself enough not to try and throw myself into the water in the hopes of trying assuage my guilt.” Oscar says, grinning like a hyena, stinging like a snake. “What were trying to do? Join your-”

“That’s it, get out!” Amy springs forward, manhandling Oscar out of the café. Yaz half-rises to help her, confused by Amy’s reaction to Oscar’s words. What had he been about to say? Jo puts a hand on her arm, shaking her head, face pale, mouth caught in a downturn. She looks shaken. What _had_ Oscar been about to say?

Yaz tries to catch the other woman’s eye, but she is pointedly looking down at her plate, fingers fidgeting nervsouly with her teacup. Yaz bites her lip. Curiosity plagues her, but she thinks that to push would be too rude, and Jo looks spooked already, and so she settles instead on distraction. She glances around, and her eyes catch on a poster pinned to a noticeboard behind Jo’s head. That might do. “What’s that?” She asks.

“Hmm?” Jo says, climbing out of her thoughts and turning when Yaz points, and she leans forward a little to snag the poster off of the board, holding it out for Yaz to take.

“It’s the annual festival that takes place here.” Jo explains. “It’s a celebration of life, or something.”

“What she means is that we commemorate and celebrate the lives of a group of lifeguards who lost their lives just off the cove’s coast.” Amy says, having returned from throwing Oscar out of her café. Rory gives her a quick peck on the cheek as he passes, and she winks at him. “Anyone who wants to can make a commemoration, either on the day or in advance. They’re made of natural materials, and you can commemorate what you want, really, just something that brought you joy at one point in your life. On the last Saturday of July, we have a celebration! There’s stalls and all sorts of things you find at these quaint little village fetes, but at the end of the day anyone who wants to can place their commemoration into the water and return it to the sea. Sort of a healing process thing.”

Jo scoffs, and Yaz looks to her confused. It is strange to see the woman so down-beat about something. And why?

“Well, for the less cynical of us it is nice.” Amy pointedly comments, eyes trailed on Jo.

Jo suddenly sneezes, and Yaz jumps. The woman sneezes twice more and lets out a groan. “Oh no…”

Amy sighs, leaning over to the counter behind her and grabbing some napkins. “Contain it, would you? I don’t want your germs…”

Jo blows her nose, eyes watering. “I don’t think the dip in the sea and then not drying off immediately afterwards has done me any good.”

Yaz bites her lip. She had been able to grab a shower after her rescue mission, but Jo had remained in the medical room being seen to by Martha. It does not surprise her that the woman might be coming down with a cold considering how cold the seawater had been. Oh dear indeed.

Jo sneezes again, and this time it is accompanied with a slight cough. She looks rather pitiful as she takes a drink from her tea, trying to clear her throat.

“Oh, for goodness…” Amy sighs out. She playfully shoos at Jo with her hands. “Get yourself home. Have you got anything to help?”

Jo shakes her head, slowly shuffling out of her seat. “I didn’t anticipate getting a cold in the summer, Amy.”

Amy tuts. “I’ll send Rory.” The man protests behind her, gesticulating to the counter and the customers sprawled around the café.

“I’ll go.” Yaz offers. “If you show me where the pharmacy is.”

“You would?” Jo asks her, before sneezing once again. Amy guides her into a standing position, concerned but obviously eager to get her sick friend away from patrons who might think there is something going around.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Yaz says, getting up out of her seat. Amy catches her eye, then, and Yaz tries to emit an aura of responsibility and trust. Amy must like what she sees, giving Yaz an approving nod.

“Just don’t get her aspirin. She can’t have it.” She orders, before backing off, rounding the counter, and watching as Yaz and Jo leave. Yaz catches her eyes one last time as she and Jo are at the door, and Amy gives her another small nod. Yaz nods back, and before she even realises she is doing it she has put a hand on Jo’s upper arm and is accompanying her through the door, wincing sympathetically as the woman sneezes once again. 

* * *

When Yaz returns to the cottage after a trip to the pharmacy and then popping into Jo’s to deliver the goods, she does not find herself tired out from her activities on the limited sleep she had gotten. Her muscles ache, but her mind feels calm and clear. Being able to help Jo has been a privilege, and she had done her best to reassure the woman, having left her in her flat, huddled on the couch under a blanket, that she should not be embarrassed and that it was no trouble at all to help. Besides, she felt she was returning the favour somewhat for the woman’s comfort on the beach in moonlight. She had been wary of coming off as too overbearing, when their friendship still seems so tentative, wound from delicate thread made from distressing dips in the sea and nights in bed, but Jo had not seemed to have minded, or rather, had been oblivious to Yaz’s slight hesitancy, too caught up in feeling awful.

If helping her will bring them closer, Yaz certainly does not mind.

Yaz pads into the cottage, ready to fix herself some coffee and crack on with one of her many books. Her mind strays to the image of Jo, red cheeks and pitiful look on her face as Yaz had left her alone in her flat and feels a twinge in her chest. She recalls the woman’s words of early morning, sat on the beach looking out over the dark abyss, the wistful tone, the sage words, how the moonlight had caught at blonde hair. Jo illuminated by moonlight was just as marvellous as Jo illuminated by the sun.

Yaz settles herself in the lounge, coffee cup on hand, grabbing her book from the coffee table. She is about to sit down, when she wonders…

She crosses to the window, peering down at the village. If she cranes her neck that way she can just about… Yes, there it is. The roof of the bookshop is just in view, Yaz can make out which one it is by spotting Grace and Graham’s home just beyond it. Yaz stretches to her tiptoes, and she can just make out the windows of Jo’s flat.

Her hand itches to reach into her pocket, to her mobile, but she fights herself. She cannot text Jo now, not when she saw her barely thirty minutes ago, not when she’s only had her number for about twenty-four hours, no matter how much she wants to…

Her mobile buzzes, and Yaz jumps, spilling her coffee a little. A few drops hit the white carpet under her feet.

“Shit!” She rushes into the kitchen, hurriedly putting her coffee down on the table, grabbing for a wet cloth, pulling out her phone with her other hand. Her heart skips a beat as she falls to her knees on the carpet, and she reads Jo’s words with a smile on her face as she dabs the carpet, trying to fix her mess.

‘Do you think they make Lemsip taste terrible on purpose?’

Yaz laughs, pushing herself off up the floor, biting her lip at the slight brown stain which still remains stubbornly on the carpet, despite her best efforts. Hopefully Bill won’t mind; you cannot fix everything, she tells herself.

‘You’re not supposed to enjoy it, it’s supposed to make you feel better.’ She texts back, and her phone buzzes with a reply as she is throwing the damp cloth into the sink.

‘How can it do that when it tastes terrible? Now my mouth just feels disgusting.’

Yaz laughs. ‘Have some water. You need to keep hydrated anyway.’

‘Yaz, you’re a genius.’

Yaz lets out a laugh on a breath, shaking her head in amusement. Had that not occurred to her? Another text buzzes through a moment later.

‘Thank you, though. I owe you one 😊’

‘No worries!’ Yaz replies. She looks down at those words on the screen in front of her, written and sent so easily. No worries, Yaz says, as she heads for the sofa, for the book she wants to lose herself in, keeping Jo’s presence close to her on her phone. No worries. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope no one minds how comically quickly Jo gets sick; didn't realise until reading back how suddenly she just begins sneezing!! 
> 
> I will see you on Thursday for chapter 8 :)


	8. A Helping Hand

Over the next few days, Yaz and Jo get into the routine of texting each other with a frequency which in no ways feels like the polite texting of one person grateful for the help of another, but instead that of two people who have begun to enjoy each other’s conversation and company.

Yaz could not be happier about it.

She smiles down at her screen as she makes her way to Jo’s flat, flip flops slapping against the warm pavement under her feet, plastic bag filled with tinned soups in hand. It is another warm day, and she wonders whether the weather is tuned into her emotional state, the sunlight on her skin warming her from the outside as her relationship with Jo warms her from the inside.

The familial bell rings when Yaz enters the bookshop, and she jumps to see Ryan looking up at her. He breaks into a cheeky grin when he sees it is her.

“You didn’t say you were working today.” Yaz says and she closes the door behind her.

Ryan shrugs. “Nan weren’t feeling too well. I weren’t supposed to be but… where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m dropping off some soup for Jo.” She explains, holding the plastic bag aloft.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Are ya now?”

Yaz narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan pulls back, holding his hands up. “I don’t mean anythin’ by it,” He says, and then contradicts himself by adding, “Only, that’s nice of yer, seeing as you haven’t known her that long an’ all.”

Yaz shrugs. “Well, I like her. She’s nice.” At Ryan’s pointed look she huffs. “Ryan!”

“What?” He says with put upon innocence. “I think it’s nice. Y’know, you broke up with your ex, and now you’re going after the local mad woman.”

“I am _not_ going after her!” Yaz vehemently protests. He hits him lightly on the arm with her plastic bag when Ryan laughs, and the other customer in the shop, a confused looking older woman, looks over in alarm. “S’alright, I know him. Unfortunately.”

The woman turns back at Ryan’s reassuring smile, which turns to a cheeky grin once again when he turns back to Yaz’s fuming face.

“And she’s not mad, Ryan.” Yaz defends Jo for her. “She’s very nice, which you’d know if you talked to her properly.”

“Fine. You’re the expert.” Ryan says.

Yaz, having had enough, turns on her heel and heads for the door in the corner. She pulls it open with more aggression than needed, and, with one last look back at Ryan, who wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her, steps through, slamming it behind her.

She has managed to calm herself a little once she has reached Jo’s front door, climbing the narrow staircase whilst trying not to let her plastic bag hit each step as it swings from her hand. She knocks on the door and waits for an answer. She had let Jo know she was coming, so the woman should answer.

The door is pulled open a moment later, and Jo’s smile greets her.

“Yaz, hi!” Jo looks… ill, in a word. Her blonde hair is messy and tangled, and she looks drowned out in the old blue hoodie and sweatpants she wears. She has donned a blanket around her shoulders like a cape. Her nose is tinged pink, her cheeks flushed, glasses perched on her nose as she has obviously not bothered with contacts.

“You look rough, no offence.” Yaz says sympathetically as Jo lets her in.

“Thanks.” Jo replies, closing the door behind Yaz. She turns to join Yaz in looking around the room, and then winces. “Ah. Sorry, I’ve not had time to clean much. Well, I…”

She looks around the space, and Yaz follows her gaze. Mugs lays strewn on every available surface, ad Yaz spots three separate boxes of tissues scattered around the main room.

“It’s okay. I’ve brought you soup!” Yaz says, holding up the plastic bag of goods she had procured from the convenience store. “I didn’t know if you ate meat or not, so I bought you one chicken soup, and then one plain tomato, and then clam chowder…”

“Oh, Yaz, that’s brilliant!” Jo exclaims, taking the bag from Yaz. She smiles, looking down at the bag. “You shouldn’t have…”

“I know that when I’m ill, soup always helps.” Yaz says. “My mum always used to make it for me.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Jo says, sniffing as she shuffles into the kitchen, placing the plastic bag on the counter. “Tea?” Yaz nods at her offer.

“Did your parents ever do anything special when you were ill?” Yaz asks, making light conversation as she follows Jo further into the flat, but keeping on the main room side and leaning her arms on the hatch counter.

“Err, no,” Jo says, not looking at her as she fills the kettle with water. “Didn’t have parents. Well, I had foster parents, quite a few of them, but… that didn’t ever work out for me. Bit of a handful, I think I was.”

Yaz fights to keep the surprise off her face. She feels slightly awkward and embarrassed, as what had been a light-hearted question had led to Jo having to reveal something very personal. Although, Yaz reasons she did not have to be so truthful, and she wonders how much Jo trusts her, to provide her with that information. It makes something warm glow in her chest, but it does not negate the guilt.

“I’m sorry, Jo, I didn’t mean to….” She trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“Nah, don’t be sorry, because you know what?” Jo says, looking to Yaz as she flicks the kettle on.

“What?”

“I can always make the soup myself!” Jo says, and Yaz knows it is meant to lighten the mood, but the statement stirs sadness in her chest. It is, essentially, a confession of loneliness.

Jo sneezes suddenly and then the worrying sound of something smashing follows. Yaz peers further over the hatch and sees a mug lying smashed on the floor. Jo is bending to pick it up, blanket swathed around her like a cloak.

Yaz moves around the corner and enters the kitchen to help her, and before long they have the pieces collected in Jo’s hand, and she leans over to throw them in a nearby bin.

“Damn, I liked that mug.” She mutters. Yaz straightens out, Jo following her, but as soon as she is up, she stumbles, grabbing at the counter. “Woah. It’s like there’s waves in ma head.”

“You got up too quick and your sinuses are all off.” Yaz says, watching as the woman blinks to clear her eyes. A hand comes up to rub at them, and Yaz feels a twinge of protectiveness, of a desire to help this woman.

“Would you let me make it for you this time?” She asks. “The soup, I mean. And the tea?” Jo looks at her, surprised, slightly fever-bright eyes blinking rapidly.

“Errr,” She seems to buffer. Yaz gives her a moment to reply. Yaz hopes her offer conveys how much this new and blossoming friendship is coming to mean to her, without it seeming too… presumptuous. Finally, Jo replies, a small smile twitching on her lips, her words sincere when she speaks. “That would be nice.”

She sits herself down on the sofa and allows Yaz to take over the role of cooking soup and making tea. Yaz finds a saucepan when directed by Jo and whilst she waits for the soup to heat up, she grabs two mugs out of a cupboard, noticing one of the mugs has a university name and logo imprinted on the side.

“This is too much, Yaz,” Jo says when Yaz delivers her a cup of tea and a bowl of steaming tomato soup, placing the tea down on the coffee table and passing Jo the soup. “First you save my life, and then you bring me soup when I’m ill? What am I going to do to make it up to you?”

Yaz laughs lightly, grabbing her own tea before sitting on the sofa at the other end to Jo, mirroring their positions from the first time Yaz had been there. She feels more comfortable, now, and is hit with that weird feeling that comes from adopting a new space into one’s ‘places of comfortable familiarity’, like she is making friends with the flat, as well as Jo. What was once unknown is now becoming inviting and comforting.

“You don’t have to do anything, it’s alright.” She reassures Jo as the other woman blows on her spoonful of hot tea before taking a sip.

“No, I’ve got to return the favour.” Jo says, licking the soup which had lain on her top lip with her first sip with her tongue and contradicting the seriousness of her statement.

Yaz shrugs, desperately trying to think of something. Something appropriate. “Maybe… could you recommend me any places nearby to visit? I haven’t really explored anywhere but the village yet.”

“Of course!” Jo lights up, sitting up straighter and almost spilling soup over herself. “There’s loads! What you after? History? Natural beauty? Toursity locations?”

Yaz considers this. “History mainly, I think.” She intentionally picks what Jo is most interested in.

Jo holds up a finger, placing her soup carefully down on the coffee table she stumbles to her feet, tripping slightly over the end of the blanket. She crawls on the ground to one of the bookcases, and Yaz watches with bemusement and a slight blush at the sight of Jo on all fours as she routes around in one of the bookcases for something.

“Ah!” She cries, and straightens, holding a map. With a chesty cough she joins Yaz back on the sofa, leaning forward to spread the map out over the table. She grabs a pen which lies discarded on the coffee table and uncaps it, holding like an artist ready to paint. Yaz bends forward to join her, and sees Kennock Cove and the surrounding area spread out before them in illustration. “There’s loads of historical sites around here. Now, when you say ‘historical’, do you also want to include folklore, legends, that kinda thing?”

Yaz nods, and Jo considers the map before her with a crease in her brow, her tongue poking out on side of her mouth. She leans forward, squinting slightly and adjusting her glasses. “Sorry, s’bit blurry.”

She puts a rough circle around Kennock Cove, which sticks out prominently on the map, and then hums as she inspects the rest of the map. Yaz supposes she has no problem with vandalising her map, and so she offers, “I can always do it if you want to eat your soup? Just tell me the place names and I’ll find them.” The woman is obviously having trouble seeing past the sick sheen which clings to her, and Yaz really does not want her getting sicker because of this.

Jo looks to her, mouth agape, and after a moment passes her the pen and gratefully sinking back against the sofa cushions, bowl of soup back in her hands.

For the next ten minutes Jo directs Yaz to certain places of interest on the map, which Yaz circles with her biro, whilst she finishes her soup. By the end of it, the map looks like a conspiracy theorist’s obsessive project, black ink marring multiple places.

“Most of them are small places, won’t take all day.” Jo says as she coughs into her arm. Her eyes light up. “Oh! You could make a day of it! Go on a mini roadtrip.”

Yaz likes that idea, but there is another she likes better, and she hesitates only briefly before asking Jo with an open smile, “You could come with me, if ya like?”

Jo looks surprised. “You’d like that?”

“Yeah. You’re an excellent tour guide.” Yaz replies playfully, before she shrugs and says self-depreciatingly. “Plus, I’d enjoy the company.”

Jo smiles at her, still looking surprised and slightly blindsided. She coughs, “I’d really like that. S’always good to have company on these kinds of things. What’s the fun in looking at these things if you can’t share it with anyone?” 

Yaz smiles, and realises she wants nothing more than to share her holiday with Jo as much as she can. As much as the other woman wants to be offered it, and it seems like Jo is genuinely flattered by the offer. Yaz squashes down the hope that flutters in her chest just that bit, telling herself not to read too much into it. That would do neither of them any good. She will see how things play out. That is what she will do.

…And with a bit of luck they might play out in her favour.

“Right then, Yaz, let’s connect these dots and plan a route.” Jo says, pulling herself upwards and Yaz out of her thoughts, adjusting her blanket further up her shoulders.

“You know, we could just do this with Google Maps?” Yaz suggests.

Jo groans and rolls her eyes. “Where’s the fun in that, Yaz? This is old school. A proper adventure.”

They work slowly to figure out the best route for them to take. Or rather, Yaz should say, Jo works it out for them through the thick soup of illness which addles her brain, and eventually they have black lines connecting to each other like their own constellation.

“Now, you’ve got Tintagel, but really if you’re going for Arthurian sites it’s not actually-”

“Oh no I’d love to go there!” Yaz says, cutting Jo off in her excitement. She is too caught up in it to notice the shadow that crosses over Jo’s face and the tightening of her grip on the map.

She offers Yaz a small smile. “If you’re sure? I’m warning you in terms of Arthurian legend it really isn’t what a lot of people expect.”

“I don’t care, the history itself will be interesting enough.” Yaz says, marking the place with a push pin on the map. She had willed her cheeks not to flush when Jo had remembered Yaz’s request for books on King Arthur on the day of Yaz’s disastrous flirting, but the woman had seemed preoccupied with going off on a massive speech, broken by the odd cough and sniffle, about sites nearby relating to the mythical man. Yaz is surprised she does not trip up on her words with the rate they leave her mouth.

“How are we gonna get around?” Yaz asks, the thought suddenly occurring. “Is there any way we could borrow Graham’s minibus or something?”

Jo’s hand slips on the map, and she creases it slightly. She sniffs, and smooths it out, turning to Yaz with a sly smile. “Oh, I’ve got something much better.”

Yaz frowns. “What?”

“You’ll see.” Jo says enigmatically. She goes to tap the tip of her nose but misses and knocks her glasses off her face instead. She tuts. “Oh! I’m so clumsy.”

“Here.” Yaz says, bending to retrieve them from where they have fallen on the floor. She does not think twice before, instead of handing them to Jo, she perches them on the woman’s nose instead.

Jo own hand comes up to fiddle with them, pushing them further up her nose. “Thanks Yaz.” Her fingers linger at the bridge of her nose for a moment before she jumps, coming back to herself and smiling. “Do we have all the places you wanna see?”

“Yeah, think so.” Yaz says, turning back to the map. The route is laid out before them, the day is planned. Now, anticipation sets in; they have planned for the Wednesday of next week, giving Jo enough time to get over her cold, hopefully. Yaz will wait, no matter how begrudgingly, to spend the whole day with the woman. Nervousness sits within her excitement.

“Brilliant!” Jo exclaims, and then sneezes. Yaz hopes she has not worn her out as Jo sinks into the pillows. “Our own adventure. Just like King Arthur eh, Yaz?”

Yaz laughs. “Yeah. Although, I’m really hoping your surprise transport isn’t horses now.”

Jo laughs, which soon turns into a cough. She reaches for her tea, taking a big gulp. “I’m not going to answer yay or _neigh_ to that one.”

Yaz groans, shaking her head. “That was terrible!”

“Not bad for someone who’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool.” Jo says proudly.

Yaz cannot help herself as she says, “I bet you were a really good lecturer.” And then she remembers Jo herself has no idea Yaz knows this, and she quickly adds, “Grace told me. Sorry. Should’a said.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jo says, a hand rubbing the back of her neck. She looks up at Yaz bashfully “But… thank you, I don’t think I could be the judge of that Yaz.”

Yaz pushes just a little. “Why did you stop, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jo’s hands curl further around her mug of tea, and she shifts on the sofa. Her eyes focus on the wall behind Yaz as she speaks. “It just weren’t for me anymore. I’d had enough. Was never good at staying in one place forever. Things changed and I needed something new.” She looks to Yaz, gesturing at her. “Bit like I were saying to you. Sometimes you have to stop something if it don’t make you happy, even if it feels like the thing you were meant to do, life doesn’t work in straight lines like that. It’s more like the coastline, all wibbly wobbly.”

Yaz nods, understanding entirely where she is coming from and empathising entirely. “Seems like this is the place to come when things don’t go right.” She says, half joking, half serious, trying to gauge Jo’s reaction.

Her head tilts to the side, and she nods, eyebrows raising and bottom lip down turning, “Yeah, y’could say that.”

Curious Yaz asks, “What did you lecture in?”

“Astrophysics.” Jo says casually, as if that is a completely mundane thing. Yaz’s eyes widen.

“Woah, so you must be…”

“Yeah I’m quite clever.” Jo comments assuredly, but not arrogantly. “Got the doctorate and all to prove it.”

“Doctor Joanne Smith.” Yaz says, the name and title feeling comfortable on her tongue. She smiles. “That’s amazin’”

“Your accomplishments are just as good, Yaz!” Jo says. “How long ya been in the force?”

Yaz sighs. “’Bout ten years, if you count my probationary period. I wouldn’t say it’s been much of an accomplishment, haven’t got very far in that time. Still just a PC.” She confesses.

Jo leans forward. “But d’ya know what is an accomplishment?” Yaz shrugs. “That you’ve come here, taken the time off, and acknowledged that it might not be working out for you. That’s really brave.”

Yaz looks at Jo, speechless, stomach clenching as the heat of Jo’s words singe her skin. She seems to have moments of complete clarity and wisdom; it is a marvellous thing to watch, and to have such words directed at her… Yaz smiles. “Y’sure you’re not a doctor of psychiatry as well?”

Jo snorts and takes a big gulp of tea. “Not likely. Although, I feel like I could ace a doctorate on Cornish folklore.”

“You seem to know a lot about the area, for someone who isn’t originally from here.” Yaz says in agreement.

“Got a brain like a sponge.” Jo replies, tapping the side of her head.

“How long have you been here?” Yaz asks causally, taking a sip of her tea.

Jo shrugs. “’Bout six months.”

“Wow. Even more impressive.” It is.

“I like learning about things. Facts. I find them… good. Orderly. S’comforting, I know they’re not going to change. Well, unless something is proven or disproven.” Jo replies, shrugging with one shoulder.

“Myths and legends, though, all that talk of King Arthur, that’s not very factual.” Yaz says, tilting her head to the side.

“I like those for a different reason.” Jo replies, with a small smile on her face. “They give people hope, and they give people adventure, and most of all they give us stories and a way to connect with each other. And we’re all stories in the end, aren’t we?”

Yaz nods, amazed by Jo’s conception of things. The woman’s genius radiates off her, but it is not blinding, not overtly arrogant, rather it glows with a constant comfort, as much a part of her as breathing. “That’s really beautiful.”

Jo scrunches up her face. “Y’think?”

“Yeah.” Yaz affirms. “And not bad for someone with a shocker of a cold.”

Jo laughs, which soon develops into a nasty cough, and Yaz winces. Maybe she should go? Loathe as she is to, Jo looks like she could do with the rest.

“I’ll let you get some more rest.” She says, placing her empty mug on the coffee table. Jo nods, sinking further into the cushions. Her gaze rests on the map on the table in front of them, a slight frown marring her brow.

Yaz fetches the woman a glass of water out of kindness, placing it down on the coffee table and shoving a box of tissues closer to her side. Jo watches her, and then her eyes rest on the glass of water for a long moment as Yaz prevaricates slightly, trying to catch her eye.

“Right. Bye, then.” She says, cheerily, and Jo jumps, looking up at her.

“Oh, yeah. Bye, Yaz!” She says, and then coughs into her arm, reaching for a tissue with her other hand. Yaz is at the door when she calls out to her. “Yaz? Thank you.”

The words are weighted with gratuity for more than just a glass of water and a bowl of soup, and Yaz smiles widely, glad to have earned the trust and the kindness of this woman. This fantastic woman. Even if she is slightly snotty nosed at present.

Yaz smiles once more before closing the front door behind her, and breathing out a long breath, feeling lighter and brighter. 

* * *

As the week progresses, their newly established friendship sits in Yaz’s pocket and accompanies Yaz to Amy and Rory’s café and sits in the cramped bookshop and flat like a constantly glow of warmth. The sun might beat down on her, but its rays pale in comparison to the light and heat which bursts in her whenever she thinks of Jo. She is strangely grateful for her failed attempt at flirting and the dramatic events which had brought them closer together in a way which was much more meaningful; where would she be if Jo hadn’t been completely oblivious to her earlier attempts at wooing, and instead had accepted her and things had progressed quickly rather than slowly? She might have found a momentary satisfaction, but riding the small waves first seems to be paying off better than taking on the big one dry. She finds she prefers those waves, and whilst they do not dull the crackling electricity in her chest, they add a constant, low-lying hum which is comforting, a representation of the growing bond of amiability between them. Yaz reasons if she had solely cared about a soulless fling with the woman, she would have been frustrated by her lack of progress in that respect so far, but no, she has been caught on a rising tide of affection for Jo since she first spotted the woman on the beach at sunset. And, maybe Yaz is hopeful, and has been caught in that hope since she first laid eyes on Jo, and has dug herself a hole in it since, but might those waves not reach the shore soon?

She only wishes there was a clearer way to know whether Jo is riding the same waves as she is.

As much as the woman seems an open book of friendliness and cleverness, she is also enigmatic, and Yaz can sense a shroud of mystery surrounding her which is difficult to penetrate. She does not want to be so forward as to prod and poke at the woman to reveal her secrets, but she is curious, and she wants to know more about this woman as her affection grows with every day. The small titbits of information she has are intriguing enough, but Yaz wants to know more. What is she thinking? What is she feeling? What was her life like before Kennock Cove? And… What does she think of Yaz, like, what does she _really_ think of Yaz?

By the time Saturday rolls around, Jo is pretty much recovered and back at her station in the bookshop, and Yaz is setting off for the day to the nearby town of Wadebridge to explore a new setting. She has managed to grab a lift in Graham’s minibus, despite it being packed full of old age pensioners who seem to be inpatient to leave their sleepy little village for a trip to the nearest supermarket.

“Hop on in the front with me, cockle.” Graham says, patting the empty passenger’s seat next to his driver’s seat.

“Thanks so much, Graham.” Yaz says, climbing in and closing the door behind her with a clang. The vehicle is old and a little beaten up, and when Graham starts the engine it seems to wheeze as if it has been smoking all of its life, but the love the man feels for it is evident from the way he strokes the dashboard and lovingly readjusts his rear view mirror.

“Does Grace ever get jealous?” She asks, perhaps a little cheekily, as she watches his ministrations, but the sun is bright and Yaz has had a funny text conversation with Jo about knights and their big swords this morning, and she is feeling buoyed.

Graham laughs, taking it kindly as he pulls out onto the main road. The minibus has been sitting idle outside the bookshop when Yaz had arrived, and therefore she is none the wiser to where he actually puts it when it is not in use. “Grace isn’t the jealous type. And she knows I love her only just a little bit less than I love my bus.”

“Graham!” Yaz says, laughing. Graham joins in, eyes light and bright as they focus on the road in front of them.

“Nah, only foolin’ ya. She’s more like my best friend, this bus.”

“I think that’s really sweet.” Yaz says, and Graham glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Really? Lot a’ people would think it weird to have a relationship with a machine but, she’s got her own personality, I tell ya that.”

Yaz smiles at the man, who seems so kind and genuine. They sit in a companionable silence for a while- well, as silent as it can be with the engine of the bus chundering away and the nattering of pensioners.

“When did you first meet Grace?” Yaz asks as they turn onto a main road, cars packed with surfboards and campervans streaming past them on the other side of the road.

“She was my nurse when I had cancer.” Graham says.

“Oh, Ryan did say about that… I’m sorry, that’s terrible.” Yaz says.

Graham’s shrugs. “It weren’t great, but I’m in remission now and, well, funny how the world works, ain’t it? I get that horrible illness and yet I meet the woman of my dreams because of it! Shows you things really ain’t straightforward, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” Yaz agrees. “That is quite a thing to think about.”

“In a way, it gave me a new lease on life.” Graham says, changing gear. “I thought I’d had my lot, I thought… well, I thought that might be it.” He smiles sheepishly, and Yaz winces in sympathy. “But then… Grace comes along, and I realise I have infinite possibilities still ahead! Gave me a reason to fight, she did. I don’t think I’d be here if it weren’t for her.”

Yaz can feel herself melting, and wills away the tears that threaten to gather in her eyes; she reckons that might just make poor Graham uncomfortable. “Graham, that’s beautiful.”

He shrugs, hands coming off the steering wheel for a moment. “It is what I feel, no poetry to it. It’s what Grace has given me. Never thought I’d ever have kids. I was married before, but it didn’t work out and we separated with no children. And Ryan… well, I think he finds it difficult to come to terms with the fact he has to share his nan with me, but he’s coming round to the idea of me as a father-figure. Well,” He laughs self-depreciatingly. “Grandfather figure, let’s face it.”

“You sound like you care about him a lot.” Yaz observes.

“I do, he’s Grace’s pride and joy, and he’s a smashin’ bloke.” Graham says. He hits a pothole, and Yaz grabs for her seat as the whole bus jostles. Behind her come the grumblings of their other passengers. “Sorry, folks!” Graham calls.

“He’s definitely grown up since I’ve known him.” Yaz says.

They settle back into their comfortable silence as they travel down a wooded enclave, dappled light hitting Yaz’s eyes form beyond the leafy canopy which whizzes by above them.

“How did you know Grace was the one for you?” Yaz asks once they have emerged from their wooded tunnel and are back overlooking fields which stretch for miles to see. The idle turning of wind turbines catch Yaz’s eye.

“It wasn’t so much knowing as it was feeling. I just felt… alive, whole again, after that blasted illness had wrecked me. And, well, before that, too. I don’t think I was whole then, either. My first marriage, it wasn’t terrible, but we just didn’t click in the way Grace and I do. Meeting Grace… it was like something switched on in me, like a lightbulb, like electricity.”

Yaz stares out at those constantly moving turbines, Graham’s words making her heart lurch in her chest. She does not acknowledge how close that description sits to what she felt the other day when trying to understand why she was tying herself in such knots over Jo. No. she cannot think about that now. It’s barely been two weeks! She hasn’t even….

“You alright, Yaz?” Graham asks, and she jumps, having been caught up in her thoughts.

“Yeah. That made a lot of sense.” Yaz says.

Graham looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He smiles cheekily. “You felt that for anyone, Yaz?”

“No.” She denies quickly. Too quickly. She smiles at him. “But I hope to one day.” 

* * *

Wadebridge reminds her more of Sheffield than Kennock Cove does. It retains its Cornish ambience, but it is more commercial, filled with chains and independent stores, and there is a band playing as Yaz strolls down the high street, and its noise fills the air and lightens it as Yaz pushes down thoughts of her confused heart and focuses instead on buying gifts for family and necessities for herself. She loses herself in the atmosphere.

She is so lost in it all that she almost does not notice the sounds of shouts coming from behind her, and it is only when a figure nearly crashes into her, running in a fast sprint, that she blinks back to reality and catches on to what is happening.

An elderly man is shouting furiously at the individual, an elderly woman with a shocked expression on her face stood next to him. The old man is moving, trying his best to go after the other man, but he is restricted by his age, obviously, as his legs are stiff and his movements are stilted. Yaz looks back towards who she suspects is a thief who had grabbed the old lady’s handbag and run, and sees he is attempting to cross a busy road to reach the pavement on the other side. Yaz’s eyes narrow, and decisiveness sets in.

She begins to move after the other man, keeping her movements subtle at first so as not to rouse suspicion, but she breaks into a run once he takes his chances and moves out into a clear bit of road, darting between oncoming cars, who blare their horns furiously at him. Yaz herself uses the benefit of this sudden disruption in the traffic, the cars having stopped in reaction, to dart across the road after the thief.

“Stop!” She shouts, and the other man glances behind him at her, eyes widening as he sees her on his trail. He begins to speed up, movements crazed and panicked. Yaz, on the other hand, is all stealthy determination, blood pumping through her veins, muscles working so that she gains a considerable advantage on him. They are crossing a bridge, she realises, over a river, and ahead of them the pavement is closed, big red barriers and figures moving about in bright neon orange connoting that manual work is being done. Traffic on the bridge is moving too fast, and Yaz can see the man panicking as he prevaricates, unsure whether to take his chances.

“Stop!” She tells him once she reaches him, within a few feet. She holds her arms out to demonstrate she means no harm. “Come on now, you know that is not a good idea.”

The man glares at her, clutching the bag to his chest. He looks poorly dress and scraggly, although his eyes are clear and fraught with desperation, and so Yaz approaches with both caution and a calm rationality which she hopes comes off as non-judgemental; who knows what this man’s situation is, he might need help.

The man hesitates for a moment more in front of the fast-moving traffic before he turns and runs the other way, to the side of the bridge which drops to the river below. That is an even worse idea.

“Come on now, that’s not a good idea either.” Yaz says to him, and the man jolts when she takes another step forwards, one hand on the parapet, peering over cautiously, weighing up his options. Yaz waits patiently, words on the tip of her tongue which will reason with him, make him consider his choices. When he seems to decide that the bridge and the estuary below are his best bet, lifting a leg onto the parapet, Yaz steps in. “I’d think about that before you do that. It might not look like much of a drop, but I promise you it’s more than it looks. You could give yerself a nasty injury.”

“Piss off!” The man shouts at her, voice loud and breaking with panic. Yaz is aware there is an audience forming, and she hopes someone has had the wherewithal to phone the police.

“Look, it’s not going to be that bad if you come back from there and return the bag.” Yaz reasons. “Much better than the broken bones you might get if you jump.”

“It won’t be!” The man says, peering down at mud and water below. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to.” Yaz reasons with him. “Or at least come back from there and we can find someone who will understand, who will listen to you.”

She suspects homelessness, there is a desperation that clings to him, and the clothes he wears are dirty and worn. What he needs, she suspects, is help, this an act of desperation, and that can only be given if Yaz keeps him calm enough whilst they wait for the authorities to arrive.

“No one is interested, no one wants to help.” The man spits, although there is less vitriol in his tone and more a gaping helplessness.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Yaz says, watching him very carefully in case he makes any sudden movements. Behind her she can hear scuffling footsteps, and when she glances back, she sees two police officers approaching, neon vests standing out against the large crowd which is forming as they push their way through the bodies. They watch her cautiously, assessing the situation, and Yaz puts a hand out to halt their slow approach as the thief makes a sudden scramble to the edge of the parapet once he spots them, letting out a squeal of panic.

“Look, whatever you think might happen, I can assure you it won’t.” Yaz says to him, her heart beating furiously in her chest and adrenaline pumping through her veins, but she finds herself focussed on this man with a single mindedness that keeps her calm and collected. “Come back from here and talk, and explain, and everything will be cleared up and we can help you.”

The man hesitates, eyes flicking between Yaz and the river below them, and Yaz meets his gaze with her own steady one. Finally, he asks, “I won’t be arrested?”

Yaz shakes her head, “No. Apologise to the victim, talk to whoever can help you and we can sort this out without resorting to those measures.”

The man lets out a shaky whine of uncertainty and Yaz adds, to really drive her point home. “I promise you; we are on your side.”

“She’s right, Trevor.” One of the police officers says, a woman who exudes a natural confidence and power, but who right now has her face drawn in an expression of trust and kindness. “We’re on your side, mate. We just want to help.”

The thief, Trevor, hesitates for only a moment more before he relents and climbs down off of the parapet. Yaz lets out a sigh of relief and allows the female police officer and her male counterpart to take over and escort Trevor to the side and prise the handbag from his possession. She runs a hand through her hair, all the adrenaline leaving her body and leaving her a little blindsided, but she falters when she hears clapping behind her. She turns, and sees the crowd of people applauding her, some of them whooping, including the old man who had first alerted her to the incident with his shouts. She gives them all a small smile and a nod, feeling surprisingly touched; she has performed many public apprehensions and duties of her job in Sheffield, and yet she has never received such thanks for it, not in this manner.

“Well, well, well.” Says a voice from behind her, and Yaz turns to see the female police officer approaching with a smirk on her face. Behind her the male officer is talking with Trevor. “Quite the hero.”

Yaz lets out a small laugh. “Really not. I’m an officer.”

The woman’s eyes widen in surprise. “I see. And where are you normally patrolling, PC…”

“Khan.” Yaz finishes for her. “Yasmin Khan. And Sheffield.”

The woman nods. “Just fancied a bit of plain clothes work, did you?” She jokes, or at least Yaz thinks she is joking. She laughs accordingly.

“No. I’m on holiday. Saw what was happening and just… acted on instinct.” She explains, and the other woman nods approvingly.

“Gotta take a statement, if you don’t mind.” The woman says, and Yaz nods her consent. The woman looks up at the crowd as she pulls out her pad and pen. “Go on you lot, clear off! This isn’t a circus.”

The crowd disperses, only a few stragglers staying on behind, including the old man and his lady friend, who shake Yaz’s hand and give their most gracious thanks before the police officer ushers them to the side to take Yaz’s statement, reassuring them the handbag will be returned soon.

Once Yaz’s statement has been taken, a straightforward process seeing as both of the know exactly what is needed of her as a witness, Yaz takes the bold step of questioning what has been bothering her about the woman ever since she started talking. “That’s an Essex accent, isn’t it?”

The woman smiles. “Got it in one. Transferred down here a few years ago from Chiswick. Needed the change.” She swallows back something sad which lurks behind her eyes, and covers it up with a joke, “Too many idiots and far too many spiders.”

Yaz frowns. “Spiders?”

“Don’t ask.” The woman says, and Yaz does not push it further. The other woman evaluates her with chestnut eyes. “It’s nice to see some young blood around here. We could use an officer like you. no offence to Sid, but we’re not exactly a crack team.”

Yaz laughs when the woman does, looking over at Sid, indeed an older man, although not out of shape, returning the victim’s purse, who beams and gives him a peck on the cheek.

“Sorry to disappoint, but this really is just a holiday.” Yaz says, adjusting the straps of her backpack.

The woman makes an ‘ah’ sound and sighs. “Well, that is a shame. But, if you ever change your mind, here…” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small card. “Here’s my number. Sergeant Donna Noble.”

Yaz takes the woman’s card giving her a nod of thanks. “A sergeant? On patrol?”

Donna shrugs. “Like I said, we could use more officers down here.” She tips her helmet to Yaz and turns on her heel, heading back towards Trevor and Sid.

Yaz lets out a long breath, feeling like she has not caught her breath properly since spotting the thief in action. It had felt… good, to be back doing what she has since fallen out of love with; the feeling of having made a difference, prevented a crime and hopefully helped out someone in need. Of making a difference for good. Yaz fiddles with one of her earrings as her brain swirls and twists like a whirlpool. 

The card sits like a heavy weight in Yaz’s pocket for the rest of her trip. 

* * *

“Yaz, mate!” Ryan calls to her as she strides onto the beach. It is later, and, having returned from her much more exciting than anticipated trip to Wadebridge, Yaz has spent the rest of the day pacing the coastline which sits above her cottage, reaching it by a small coastal path near the building, and trying to figure out the mess of thoughts in her brain. A few texts between her and Jo throughout the afternoon has lightened her mood somewhat, and at Ryan’s invitation to come down to the beach for a game of volleyball, she had fetched some loose clothing and wandered down, glad of the chance to socialise.

She waves to Ryan as he comes jogging over to her, shaking his head and smiling. She frowns. “What?"

"What do you mean ‘what’? I’m talking about your viral video!”

“What?” Yaz freezes.

“It’s all over Twitter!” Ryan says and he pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen a few times before he passes it over to Yaz.

Her stomach clenches and her eyes widen as she sees video footage taken of her chase and talk down of Trevor earlier that day. “Oh my god…”

“We’ve all seen it.” Ryan says. “We’re all super impressed.”

“I were just doing my job…” Yaz says, trying to shrug it off, uncomfortable for the attention.

“I think Jo were really impressed mate.” Ryan says, looking at her with a sly smile as he accepts his phone back from her.

“Really?” Yaz says suddenly, looking up at him. Ryan smirks. Her cheeks blush red. “Oh, stop it.”

Ryan giggles when Yaz lightly shoves him. He follows her as she walks further onto the beach, towards where she can see Jack and Rory setting up a volleyball net. “I mean it Yaz, when she saw the way you chased after him, all agent like, she went bright red.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating things.” Yaz denies, despite the way her brain frantically files away that information to think about later in bed.

“Think what you think, mate, but I saw what I saw.” Ryan says, holding his hands up and shrugging.

Yaz spots Jo, then, sat on the edge of the harbour next to Amy, and when the woman catches Yaz looking at her she waves, giving her a close-lipped smile. Yaz waves back, and then shoves Ryan so that he stumbles on the soft sand beneath them when he wiggles his eyebrows at her. As a result, she misses Jo do the exact same to Amy.

The volleyball game is energetic, and Yaz feels glad to be burning off energy physically when her brain has been working at double speed all afternoon. She is overtly aware of when her shirt rises up to reveal her torso each time she reaches and jumps for the ball, and she is _extremely_ aware that every time she glances over, Jo’s eyes are on her and her solely.

Lightning strikes, and although Yaz knows it is only within her that it crackles, she wonders whether Jo might have heard it as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading- kudos and comments are really appreciated! I've entered that stage where I'm convincing myself this is all a load of crap so if you do have some words of encouragement, I'd love to hear them! And thank you so much to those who have already commented and kudosed- it really means a lot :D Also, I'm writing the later chapters and want to add some more complexity to what I had planned for those, so i think this will end up being more than 20 chapters but i'll change it when I've finalised that :)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at Walker-Lister. If you'd like to say hello please do :)
> 
> See you next week!


	9. Tripping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments i got on the last chapter after expressing my insecurities, they really mean the world! You also may have seen I've upped the chapter count- I re-evaluated my plan for the rest of this and needed those extra 5 chapters. (I've updated the tags and might actually add a few more as I will be covering some heavier themes and want to make people aware of anything that might be harmful to them. If you have any further concerns feel free to send me a message on Tumblr at Walker-Lister :))  
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter- really, really hope you enjoy it, this is a big deal one for me, or at least one i had a really good time writing so i hope it's enjoyable to read! 
> 
> TW: discussions of death

Yaz rubs the back of her neck as she waits for Jo to turn up, butterflies in her stomach as she prepares to spend the whole day with the other woman. Although the weather has been surprisingly consistent in its pleasantness, she had been filled with a worry born from anticipation that it would rain and they would have to call off the trip; she does not think she could have waited any longer than the last few days.

She and Jo have kept up correspondence, and Yaz has stopped in to chat at the bookshop a few times on her way down to the harbour for a swim or simply to lounge on the beach with one of her many books. She has also taken to occasionally sitting with Ryan as he mans the surf shop, which mainly consists of him bantering with Jack next door at the coastguard station.

She feels part of the community now, welcomed into a group of friends who seem to have nothing but good intentions in their hearts. It eases her mind and the stresses of Sheffield, whilst her conversations with Jo spark that exciting stirring of electricity in her chest.

She has not felt homesick for a while now.

The sound of an engine revving fills Yaz’s ears, and she curiously looks each way along the road, stood as she is outside of the bookshop, having assumed Jo would come from her flat, and she does a double take when she realises what and who is approaching her.

Jo sits atop a navy blue vespa scooter adorned with appliqué stars on its front, revving the engine as she spots Yaz, riding up the road from the harbour. She comes to a stop in front of Yaz, who steps back as Jo approaches at quite a speed, and she smiles up at her, eyes shadowed by the helmet that covers her head.

“Hi, Yaz!” She says as she pulls off her helmet, tossing her blonde hair back and running a hand through it to dispel the worst of her helmet hair.

“Hi. Wow.” Yaz says, looking down at the scooter. “This is what you meant when you said you had transportation arranged.”

“Yep. Do you like it?” Jo asks, kicking down the stabiliser as she steps off, helmet supported under her arm. She looks….

Yaz sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head in amazement. “I love it.”

The scooter is so… _Jo._

“I’ve got another helmet for you here…” Jo says, handing Yaz her own as she opens up the seat to reveal a small compartment for storing objects. She pulls out a white helmet, handing it to Yaz, who takes it with a ‘thank you’. “And I’ve also got snacks! Custard creams, I love custard creams, and some pastries from Amy’s. That’s where I just was.”

“Well luckily I’ve brought some water.” Yaz says and laughs as Jo realises.

“Oh yeah. Forgot that. Thought too much about those custard creams…” She gazes off into the far distance, and Yaz wonders if she is really fantasising about the biscuits, when she jumps and looks to Yaz. “Ready, PC Khan?”

Yaz hands Jo her helmet and fits hers on her own head. “Whenever you are, Doctor Smith.”

“Let’s ride!” Jo says and swings her leg over the scooter, getting seated comfortably.

“’Let’s ride’?” Yaz questions as she sits herself behind Jo.

“I panicked.” Jo says bashfully. She looks back at Yaz, eyes flicking downwards and then up to Yaz’s face again. “You’ll have to put your arms around my waist.” She says, a little more hesitant than her usual tone of voice.

“Okay…” Yaz says, feeling a little hesitant herself now. She just knows her cheeks have flushed bright red.

“Right then.” Jo says, switching on the Vespa’s engine. “Allonsy!”

Yaz is too preoccupied with the motion of wrapping her arms around Jo’s slim frame and pressing her own body against the other woman to question her sudden use of French. It feels like every nerve is on high alert, and each minute movement she makes as she gets comfortable seems exaggerated. The other woman is warm and soft under her touch, and Yaz wills other, baser thoughts from her mind and concentrates on keeping her balance on the scooter as they set off, clouds of dust pluming in their wake. 

* * *

If Yaz had thought this trip might be a relaxing romp between each area of interest, she is wrong. Jo has an infectious energy, just like she had had on her guided tour, and she seems to bubble over with enthusiasm for each place and the facts which spout from her mouth seemingly nonstop. Yaz’s head spins a little from the mountains of information piled onto her.

It is nearing lunchtime when they reach their penultimate stop at King Arthur’s Tomb, having decided to dedicate their afternoon to their time at Tintagel, as it will take the most time to properly visit. Yaz releases her grip on Jo once they have come to a stop in the small gravelled car park, having passed a sign advertising ‘King Arthur’s Stone and Last Battlefield’, and swings herself off the scooter, desperate to get the helmet off and let the light breeze get to her head and hair.

“’Bout time for a custard cream, I think.” Jo says as she too removes her helmet and runs a hand through her hair.

“Jo, you’ve had about seven already.” Yaz says good naturedly. The woman has seemingly inhaled the biscuits at each place they have stopped, cramming them into her mouth as if starved for weeks beforehand. 

“And?” Jo says with a smile, reaching into her scooter’s compartment and pulling out a handful of custard creams.

“How many have you got in there…?” Yaz says, stepping forward to peer into the compartment. “Oh my god, Jo!”

There is about five packets of custard creams stowed away, and Yaz wonders how the woman has the room to store them along with Amy’s pastries and the helmets; it is as if the compartment is bigger on the inside.

“What?” Jo says with put-upon innocence, looking at Yaz with wide eyes as she shoves a biscuit in her mouth. She offers one to Yaz, who takes it with a smirk before bursting into giggles. Jo smiles back.

“Right. Let’s get a shift on.” Jo says once they have polished off their biscuits and locked their helmets safely away in the Vespa’s compartment.

They follow signposts across a field and into a wooded dell, and when Jo spots something up ahead she makes a delighted sound and grabs Yaz’s hand, pulling her towards it. Yaz tightens her fingertips around Jo’s, revelling in the feel of her hand in hers. She has been touching the woman all day, but through layers of clothing, and Yaz’s breath stutters in her chest at the feel of Jo’s calloused skin against hers.

Yaz realises the other woman is rambling about something, and she tunes back in halfway through a sentence, too caught up in their physical contact.

“….. This whole area has connections to Arthur. Some people think Camelford is named for Camelot, and that Slaughter Bridge refers to Arthur being slain in battle by Mordred.” Jo says, and then brings Yaz to a stop by a small river, the water lying low and exposing the pebbles and stones, slick with moisture. In front of them rests a large slab dappled with moss, engraved with writing, but Yaz cannot make out the words.

“This is King Arthur’s Tomb. Well, that’s what it’s called, anyway. Apparently, it’s been kicking around since 540 AD.” Jo says.

Yaz looks down at it in amazement. “Oh wow!”

She goes to pull out her phone to take a photo, which is when she realises that her hand is still entwined with Jo’s. “Oh.” She says awkwardly. “Sorry.”

She pushes down the thoughts of how loathe she is to let go, and instead lets her fingers drop and dig into her pocket for her phone instead.

“That’s alright.” Jo says quietly, although her face is turned away from Yaz, looking at the river coursing down the dell. She turns back once Yaz is kneeling and snapping photos of the stone at their feet. “Of course, this is just one place that claims to have connections to King Arthur and where he died. Glastonbury is another. That’s the one people tend to think of.”

“I remember that from school.” Yaz says and she straightens.

“It’s so fascinating the stories people have of King Arthur, they’re so personal, in some cases, linked to a person’s identity and how they see themselves as fitting in the world.” Jo says, eyes roaming over the space in front of them.

“It’s like… they offer something different to each person. To be able to take personal meaning from physical space like this... I really love that.” Yaz says, eyes roaming over the dell before coming to rest on Jo. She can make out the faint freckles on the woman’s pale skin.

“And the more places you explore the more places you find another piece of yourself in.” Jo says.

Yaz looks to her. “Have you travelled a lot.”

Jo nods. “Yeah. Love it I do.”

“By yourself or with others?”

“Oh, always with someone-others, other people.” Jo says. “Can’t take being alone, me.”

Yaz finds that incredibly sad when she thinks that the woman inhabits a small box flat all on her own.

In a fit of spontaneous affection Yaz raises her phone and snaps a photo of Jo. The woman jumps when she realises what Yaz is doing, covering her face with her hand. “Ah, Yaz, no!” She cries, although she is laughing.

Yaz peers down at the photo of Jo she has taken, and she is so caught in up of it she becomes unaware of her surroundings, and her focus turns solely to the photo. Jo is off-guard, staring away from the camera and down at the stone which rests at their feet. Her blonde hair forms a backdrop to the sharp angles of her face, cut in the shadows formed by the leafy canopy above them. She looks as if she has been sculpted by skilled artist’s hands, the contours of her face, her nose, her cheekbones, they are both soft and sharp at the same time. She is beautiful.

She is so caught up in admiring the photo that she does not realise Jo is now stood facing her, taking a snap of Yaz with her own phone.

“Hey!”

Jo smirks. “Now you know how it feels.”

Yaz sighs and smiles. “Fair point.”

Jo’s face screws up as she looks at the photo she has taken. “Oh, it’s blurry. Here-”

She reaches forward and Yaz instinctively moves back. “It’s alright.” Jo says.

“Yeah.” Yaz swallows. “Sorry.”

Jo gently reaches behind Yaz’s ear and pulls a strand of hair to the front, repeating the action on the other side afterwards. Yaz has her hair styles in a half up, half down style, and she self-consciously reaches up to ensure the bun on the top of her head is neat.

“There,” Jo says, smiling softly. “Now, look over there like you’ve seen something amazing.”

Yaz desperately wants to tell her that the ‘something amazing’ is stood right in front of her.

Yaz makes an over-exaggerated face of surprise and Jo snorts, bending over a little as she laughs. “That’s not what I meant!” She says. “Just look like you’re enjoying the day.”

“I am enjoying the day.” Yaz says as she watches the water flow down the valley and cascade over rocks and roots. “I don’t have to pretend.”

She smiles, glancing over at Jo out of the corner of her eye, and in that moment Jo takes her photo.

“There.” She says. “Now we’re matching.” 

* * *

Yaz is not sure whether she is reading more into the time they had spent together that morning, but it seems to have been charged with something more than just friendship. It is not the electricity that crackles in her chest, the current does not run that high, but it is like a softer buzz, a static which rests between them. It feels her with warmth, and she smiles, clinging to Jo just a little tighter as the scooter whizzes down country roads towards their next destination.

They come across a pub on the outskirts of Tintagel and decide it might be better than trying for the centre of the town, which might possibly be brimming with tourists all searching for food now that midday has come and gone. The building is a small affair with an old-world feel, and Yaz has to bend down slightly when they enter through an ancient looking oak door.

A kindly server directs them to a table in a secluded corner. There is fireplace unlit right next to them, and Yaz imagines if one were to dine here in winter, it would be extremely cosy. The server passes them a menu each and then leaves them to it.

“Not sure you’re going to get pain au chocolat here.” Yaz remarks as her eyes skim the menu.

“Ooh, but they do have chips. Love me some chips.” Jo says, peering at her own menu.

“Chips and pain au chocolat, noted.” Yaz says. “Oh, and tomato soup.”

Jo looks at her from over the top of her menu. “What foods do you like?”

“My nani, she makes this dish called pakora, and I _adore_ it.” Yaz explains, and then with a laugh adds. “But only when _she_ makes it. My dad tries, but… it’s terrible.”

Jo smiles at her, hazel eyes shadowed slightly in the low light of the pub, so that Yaz cannot make out what thoughts sit within them. She remembers the information Jo had trusted her with about being a foster child, and she wonders if anyone has ever taken the time to cook Jo her favourite meal.

Conversation soon turns to events in Kennock Cove, and they laugh lightly about ongoing jokes that have started between them about people and places, in particular about what else Oscar might do to his bikes other than hiring them out for exorbitant prices. When the food arrives, they each tuck in without hesitation, famished from the busy day, despite Jo’s many custard cream breaks.

Yaz realises it has been so long since she’s enjoyed a lunch out like this with another person. In fact, the last time she had done so was with Clara on the day that she…

She coughs, taking a hasty sip of water. Jo looks up at her with a slight frown. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Yaz says, voice slightly raspy. “Only… well, I just realised the last time I had lunch out like this was when I broke up with my ex.”

Jo makes a sympathetic noise, dipping a chip into tomato sauce so that it is lathered in the stuff. “How long were you dating before then?” She asks as she pops it into her mouth.

“Three years.” Yaz admits, and Jo’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Yaz nods. “I know, quite a long time.”

“What went wrong?” Jo asks.

Yaz shrugs, fiddling with her fork. “Things just… fizzed out. There was none of that excitement that had been there at first. We’d just slipped into everyday life and it felt like affection and… sex,” she adds a little bashfully, but Jo does not seem perturbed, “… became a chore, like doing laundry. With that and work… I feel frustrated, it’s like I wasted some of my best years, y’know? She was the only person I’ve ever properly dated and got to know. Others were just…. stupid flings when you’re young and horny! I should have broken things off with her earlier than I did, but I was scared, y’know? Scared of not being in a relationship for the first time in years. Of being on my own. I just knew I needed something different. I needed an adventure.”

“And that’s why you came here?” Jo asks, finger digging into the table as she points.

Yaz nods. “Yeah. My friend Bill’s been pushing me to relax and take time for myself.” Yaz says, leaving out the ‘summer fling’ aspect of Bill’s advice that has haunted her since the first week.

Jo blinks rapidly, that light crease between her eyebrows there again. Yaz is getting strangely enamoured to it. “But you… wanted to spend time with me? You invited me to this. Your adventure, for yourself?”

Yaz chooses her next words carefully, taking the static that she has felt between them and channelling it through her words with the hope Jo might pick up on its energy too. “Because I wanted to, because you make me feel less alone.”

Jo seems frozen in place, and Yaz’s heart beats frantically as she waits for the woman’s reply. Jo licks her lips, and Yaz notices her hand is trembling just a little against the table top. She wants to reach out and hold it, slightly concerned by this reaction. Finally, Jo says, “You make me feel less alone, too.”

Yaz smiles widely, relief rushing over her like a wave. “I’m glad.” She picks up her glass of water, buoyed by this wave of joy, and raises it in the air for a toast. “To being less alone.”

Jo picks her own up, and Yaz ignores the tremble which still runs slightly through her hand. “To being less alone.” 

* * *

It is a long walk from the car park to the actual site of Tintagel Castle, and Yaz glances at Jo out of the corner of her eye every now and then. The woman has seemed quieter since Yaz’s lunchtime confession, lost in thought, and Yaz worries even though the woman had seemed touched by Yaz’s words. If it was not Yaz’s confession to enjoying Jo’s company more than being alone, then what is it that is bothering the woman? Or had she been lying so as to not hurt Yaz’s feelings? Insecurity swirls around inside her.

As they approach the site, Yaz can see the ruin standing imposingly above them on the cliffside, all craggy and weather-beaten stone. They have to queue for a little while whilst they wait to buy tickets from a visitor centre, and Yaz hesitates before she says, “So, tell me about this place.”

It does the trick, and soon Jo is dragged out of her uncharacteristic quietness and is giving Yaz a very through history of the site and its connections to King Arthur, hands gesticulating wildly and almost hitting the man in front of them in the queue. Yaz gives him an apologetic smile.

“…and it’s like we were saying people create links between King Arthur and the places because they find something worthwhile in doing that.” Jo says as they near the front desk. “Of course, that gives the people who run this place a chance to cash in on that and sell people the promise of something that _actually isn’t really there-”_ They reach the front counter as Jo says this, and the employee behind the desk gives them a weary expression; Yaz can see him fighting not to roll his eyes.

“Can I _help_ you?” The man asks.

Jo grimaces. “Tact, sorry. I’m lacking in a bit of tact.”

“Two tickets, please.” Yaz says with a fond smile. 

* * *

“You not keen on heights?” Yaz asks as they approach the ruin. To reach it they must cross a wooden bridge which stretches across two cliffs, towering above the beach which sits below. Yaz can make up people moving about on the sand. Jo has gone slightly quiet, looking at the castle with faint apprehension, and Yaz is keen to not let her sink back into the quiet which had surrounded her on their walk down.

Jo smiles sheepishly. “Err, not so much afraid as wary.”

“It’s okay.” Yaz says. “I’ll be there to help.”

And she does, especially when, having crossed the bridge, she can feel the tension in Jo’s limbs when they have to climb a narrow set of stairs to reach the ruin. It does feel like one wrong movement and they could topple off the steps and down to the beach below, but Yaz is sure to keep her attention on Jo to evade both her own fear and to ensure the woman is alright. Once Yaz has reached the top and the centuries old doorframe which stands there, she holds out her hand for Jo. The other woman takes it, her grip strong and firm.

“We made it!” Yaz says as Jo joins her on solid ground.

“Oh, thank god.” The other woman mutters, releasing her hand from Yaz’s to bend over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “I wish I’d brought my custard creams.”

Yaz laughs.

Once she has recovered, Jo throws herself into the role of being Yaz’s tour guide, pointing out specific points of interest as they weave through the ruins. At one point another visitor begins to listen in to what Jo is saying, and before they know it Jo has a small crowd surrounding her, latching onto her every word. Yaz steps back and watches as the woman, with cheeks flushed red a little, slips back into her element, talking to the crowd of people easily. Yaz is more than happy to sit back and watch her do what she does best.

The group breaks away when a member of staff butts in with a raised eyebrow, and Jo just shrugs before darting back to Yaz’s side, giving the woman a muttered apology.

“Got carried away there…” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

They wander further along the cliff line, and come to a rest at the side of a set of ruins which are more submerged into the ground than those of the castle, the remnants of small houses, apparently, covered in mossy grass, stones half buried under mud and dirt. Yaz plonks herself down on the grass next to Jo, and the two sit in a comfortable silence for a bit as they take a rest.

“This was one of her favourite places to come.” Jo suddenly says, and Yaz frowns, looking at her curiously.

“She?”

Jo nods, and Yaz waits for her to explain more, watching as the woman fights to find the words, or, at least, fights to get the words out. “River. My wife.”

Yaz’s heart jumps in her chest, and she straightens, the surprise surely evident on her face. Bitter disappointment clenches around her chest, tightening like a lead band. “You have a wife?”

Jo smiles, but it is a tragic smile, carrying no happiness, no joy, but rather the whispers and entrails of happiness and joy that have passed. A relic, like the ruins which rest before them, of another life. It wobbles, and Jo rubs her hands together nervously. “She’s dead.”

And then Yaz understands.

“Oh…” She says with a sharp inhale. Dots are connecting themselves in her head, things she had noticed but had not been able to create a link to slotting together so that they finally make sense. Jo at the pub getting drunk and crying, what Oscar had been about to say in the café, her dislike of the festival honouring the dead, those things which had underwritten her normal cheery demeanour… sympathy mixes like treacle with a bitter poison of disappointment, and Yaz feels sick. “Jo, I’m… so sorry.”

Jo laughs, a savage, choked sound, and shakes her head. “Don’t be.”

Yaz hesitates, unsure as to Jo’s strange reaction, a million questions joining the parade of thoughts running through her head. Jo speaks again before she can say anything, her voice sounding thick with tears, although she does an admirable job of trying to hide them. Yaz longs to tell her she does not have to.

“She was a professor of archaeology, so coming to places like this… it were like a pilgrimage for her.” She laughs, a miserable sound. “She especially loved this stuff,” She says, gesturing to the ruins in front of them, “and hated that all people thought of Tintagel were it’s where King Arthur is from.”

Yaz gives a small laugh at that, and she smiles kindly at Jo when the other women catches her eye. A single tear has trailed down her cheek, and Yaz wants to reach out and wipe it away. Jo sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Yaz, this isn’t what you were expecting from the day…”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Yaz reassures her. She fumbles in her pocket for a tissue, knowing she has a packet stashed in there from Jo’s cold. “Here.” She passes a tissue to Jo, who takes it gratefully, blowing her nose.

Yaz’s feelings mix like a strange cocktail within her, and she does not know how to process the information she has just been gifted in that moment, disappointment mixing with a strange sort of relief at the fact that Jo has opened up to her. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

“It’s alright, I could see you wondering after… well, everything.” Jo shrugs, eyes flicking away from Yaz and cheeks tinged red. 

“How... how long since…” Yaz fumbles to ask, wondering whether that is the ‘right’ thing to ask.

“Thirteen months.” Jo says with a sniff.

Yaz swallows. “And how long were you married?”

“Five years.” Jo replies. “Dated for a couple of years before that. She was the one I travelled with. She loved it as much as I did…”

Something cold trickles down Yaz’s spine as she realises. “Oh my god I’m so sorry I insisted on coming here.”

“No, Yaz, please don’t be sorry!” Jo rushes to reassure her. “I could’ve said no. You wanted to come, and I wanted to do that for you.”

Yaz stares at her, thoughts whirring around in her brain which feels like a coil of knotted wires which she cannot untangle. She had been so sure what she had felt this morning was that electrical buzz of mutual attraction, but now she knows Jo is a widow mourning her wife… had she been imagining it? Is this Jo telling her she is not interested? But she had seemed so genuine during the lunchtime discussion, and she has brought herself here, to a place haunted by her dead wife, for Yaz…. With cold dread still crawling down her spine Yaz thinks, ‘have I completely misread this situation?’

She cannot think about that now, all she knows is that she should be there for Jo and demonstrate to her how grateful she is for what the woman has trusted her with and done for her. She wants to give back to her. She longs to hug her, but she cannot shake the feeling that to do so, to feel Jo’s body and be struck by that electricity once again would be perverse in the current situation. She suddenly feels sick to the core, disgusted in herself. She is so confused.

She jumps when she notices Jo watching her worriedly. “Oh god have I said too much? I’m sorry, it’s a lot to take in…”

“No, no,” Yaz says. “It’s fine I’m just…” She turns to Jo, and sympathy overrides her disgust and she places a hand over the other woman’s. “I’m so _sorry_ Jo.”

Jo offers her a small sad smile. “Thank you.”

Yaz smiles, and both woman turn their gazes back to the ruins in front of them and the sea which spreads out beyond that, the blue broken by the white wisp of waves every now and then like cracks in a stain glassed windows. Yaz herself feels similarly broken into shards, confused, not yet able to connect herself back together again.

Thinking things through, Yaz suddenly gets angry as she remembers Oscar’s words to Jo in the café.

“How _dare_ he use that against you?!” She spits.

Jo jumps, in the middle of wiping her eyes. “Huh?”

“Oscar, at Amy’s.” Yaz says. “How _dare_ he mock you with that. And to think he has a crush on you.”

Jo shrugs. “Man makes no sense, Yaz.”

“I would never…” Yaz mutters, the words riding unbidden on the wave of her anger, and she startles, closing her mouth with an audible click as her teeth grind together. ‘I would never do that’, she had been meant to say. _Oh god did I just reveal too much?!_

But Jo is not looking at her and is instead pulling clumps of grass out of the ground with her hand, eyes lost in thought. Yaz breathes out, feeling like she has narrowly dodged a bullet.

Jo looks up, and says, “I know this was our last stop, but I think there’s one more place I want to show you.” 

* * *

Yaz feels uncomfortable, muscles tense as she must, by necessity, wrap her arms around Jo once they are riding along on the scooter once again, Tintagel far behind them. Yaz is familiar enough now with the roads to know they are heading back towards Kennock Cove, and curiosity wars with awkwardness inside her as to where exactly Jo is taking her.

They turn onto the road which leads down into the village, but instead of continuing along that road, Jo takes a left turn into a small gravelled car park Yaz has not noticed before.

“Where are we?” She asks once the two of them have dismounted and stowed their helmets away.

“This way.” Jo says enigmatically. Her eyes are still slightly red-rimmed, but she smiles kindly at Yaz.

Jo leads her across a small lawn and down into a dell similar to the one they had visited that morning. Yaz steps carefully so as not to slip on the ground where it has become wet from the small stream running downhill, unstable rocks rolling under her feet.

Finally, Jo stops them when the stream levels out for a little while, and there is a lush patch of grass next to the pooling water, which eventually spills over the earth as a small waterfall. “This leads down to the ocean.” Jo explains. She points, and Yaz follows her finger up, past the trees which encompass the small clearing, to a path which leads up towards a small hill which blooms outwards beyond the clearing. “And that path you can walk up and head towards the coastline.”

“This is so… peaceful.” Yaz turns in a circle as she takes in the space. She can hear nothing but the bubbling of the water and the calls of nearby birds and the soft wind which trails through the trees.

“I come here when it all feels too much, when I need to get away, get some space.” Jo explains. She shifts from one foot to the other. “I thought you might find it beneficial, too, for when everything you’re going through becomes too much.”

Yaz smiles, touched by this conscientious and trusting action. “Thank you, Jo.”

And there she is, confused again, by the enigma which stands in front of her. 

* * *

Yaz closes the door to the cottage behind her, waving Jo goodbye with a small smile, which immediately falls as the door closes and she throws herself against it, an action which is now become a habit.

She wants to cry, and she pushes the desire away with self-disgust. How can she be crying over the fact that Jo might be unreachable to her now when the woman is mourning her _dead wife?!_

“Fuck.” Yaz mutters, placing her hands on her knees as she fights the sob which rises in her. She feels too full of emotion, and they are threatening to spill over in salty tears.

She needs to speak to someone about this.

She phones Bill.

“ _Yaz, what’s up?”_ Bill asks, concerned, when she hears the break in Yaz’s voice.

Yaz explains everything as best she can, feeling slightly guilty about imparting Jo’s secret without telling her, but she is too caught up in herself to think twice about it. She needs someone else to make sense of all Yaz had thought she had felt between them.

It is silent down the other end of the phone for a long while once Yaz has finished speaking, and Bill is quiet for so long Yaz thinks she might have lost the connection. When she calls the other woman’s name, however, Bill hums.

“I’m just so confused, Bill. I’m so happy she felt close enough to trust me with that, but does that mean she’s off limits? Was she trying to say she wasn’t interested?”

“I don’t think you should catastrophise it to that extent, Yaz.” Bill says. “It sounds like she told you because she felt emotional being at that place and she trusts you. Plus, you said you told her about you and Clara, yes?”

“Yes.” Yaz says.

“Then she might have also been feeling like she should return the favour. If anything, reciprocating in that way has brought you two closer.” Bill reasons.

“But surely she couldn’t be interested in me if she’s still mourning her wife? _Wife._ ”

“Life ain’t as simple as that, Yaz. You didn’t expect to have a crush when you turned up, and I don’t think this crush has come about as a result of my summer fling to get back at Clara, has it?”

“No. If anything, it’s come about despite that.” Yaz replies.

“Then you cannot definitively say that Jo is not interested in you. From what you’ve described… you two sound sickeningly soft for each other.” Bill says with a slightly humorous prodding in her tone.

“Shut up.” Yaz says with a breathy laugh, feeling a little lighter. What Bill has said makes sense, and it eases her somewhat.

“You’ve really fallen for her, haven’t you?” Bill asks, the hint of a smile in her tone.

“Yeah.” Yaz admits, to herself as much as Bill. “Yeah. I really have.”

“And I bet she’s really fallen for you, too. Sounds like it. I can’t wait to meet her.” Bill says.

Yaz swings around on the ball of her foot, biting her nail. “I don’t know about that…”

“Have faith, Yaz.” Bill says. “And don’t feel like you’re taking advantage of her, alright?”

“Alright.” Yaz says with a sigh, slightly peeved Bill knew she was thinking that exact thing. To some extent, enjoying the woman’s time with more than friendship in her mind had felt like a selfish move.

“Now you go and chill out and just… stop beating yourself up.” Bill says. “Maybe go to bed and think about the feeling of her body against hers-”

“Okay, thanks Bill.” Yaz says and hangs up before the woman can finish her sentence. She fiddles with her phone in her hand for a moment, before pulling up her chat with Jo.

‘ _Thank you for today. And thank you for trusting me.’_

She presses ‘send’ without a second thought, exhausted enough to not check it for spelling mistakes. She then throws down her phone on the console table in the hallway, desperate to shower and to forget everything for a while until she feels fresher.

Bill’s words are a salve, a glue which pieces the broken shards of Yaz’s hope back together again, and now she has had time to think things through and react, she realises that she was thinking too catastrophically. All is not lost. In fact, her and Jo are closer now than they had been twelve hours earlier.

She pads back downstairs after her shower in pyjamas and slippers, and she touches her phone screen to see a text from Jo.

‘ _My pleasure. And thank you, Yaz. For everything.’_

Yaz smiles, tucking her phone into her dressing gown pocket. She looks forward to seeing Jo again, although she does feel apprehensive about how she might act, and how Jo might act, and whether their friendship might slip into a new rhythm after today. All she is sure of is that she is being swept under the rising tide of Jo, and that she does not want saving.

She just needs to know what to do next.

And there is one person she can think to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been to King Arthur's Tomb, despite it being very close to where we used to stay on holiday when I was child and despite my obsession with the BBC show 'Merlin' in my early teens (and to this day, tbh, it's iconic) so i had to be inventive from what i could find from research.   
> Also, they've installed a new bridge at Tintagel which goes straight across, but when i last visited you had to climb those narrow steps (which is terrifying if, like me, you are scared of both heights and the ocean), which i why i haven't included it :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I will see you next week :)


	10. Who do you need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments so far, I'm glad so many enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this chapter, i feel a bit insecure about it really i just... there's something about it... anyway
> 
> TW: mentions of death

Yaz spots the head of ginger hair the moment she enters the café the next morning. The events of the day before had followed her to bed and made a terrible sleeping partner, keeping her up with their tossing and turning. As a result, she enters the café later than she had hoped to, and it is filled with patrons. She bites her lip, wondering whether Amy might be able to spare her a moment.

“Amy?” She calls as she approaches the counter, to where Amy is furiously plating up pastries and shoving them onto tray. She glances Yaz’s way.

“Bear with me, Yaz. These oldies will go feral if they don’t get their blood sugar up.” She says, lifting a loaded tray easily and carrying it off to a table in the far corner.

“Hi Yaz.”

Yaz jumps and turns to see Rory, stood at his usual place behind the counter, pencil tucked behind his ear, hair messy. She offers him a quick hello.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks, sounding a bit frazzled.

“Ah, no. Actually, I was hoping I could speak to Amy?” Yaz says, hands clenching at the fabric of the inside of her pockets. “About Jo.”

Rory’s eyes narrow and then something like realisation comes across him and he glances over to his wife and then back to Yaz.

“Yeah. Just let her do these tables and then she’ll be free.” He says, and he gesticulates to her with his hands and gangly arms. “Tell you what, go on up to our flat and wait for her there. I’ll send you up. It’s just through there….” He points behind him to the wall which leads to the kitchen. “Bright red door, says ‘Private’, you can’t miss it.”

Yaz gives him her thanks and, with a little apprehension, walks around the wall and to where the door should be located. There is a small nook of a hallway, and through one door Yaz can see, through a glass panel, a small kitchen, and a person she does not recognise preparing food. To the right is another wall, and inset into it is a bright red door, a flaming red which reminds her of Amy’s hair.

It pulls open when she twists the doorknob.

She ascends a small set of stairs, reminded of Jo’s flat, but bigger and with a soft carpet laid on them. the carpet continues to spill over the small doorway which greets her at the top, and with the push of another wooden door, white this time, she enters Amy and Rory’s flat.

It is obvious this flat is lived in and loved. It has the cluttered element that Jo’s flat has, but the clutter comes from a life lived by its occupants who then want to display and reminisce over that life in their living space, displaying objects, books and photos which have some significance to them.

Yaz hesitantly enters, trying her best not to slip into the police officer mode of surveillance, and trying to at least grant Amy and Rory a modicum of privacy, despite being in their living space, and pads slowly around the first room. It is set up similarly to Jo’s, but the kitchen has been knocked through so as to create a large kitchen diner. A sofa rests on the other side of the room, a deep green velvet. It overlooks their view from the window over the beach, and Yaz admires that view for a moment before something in the corner of her eye catches her attention.

There are a number of pictures lined up on the mantlepiece of their small fireplace, and Yaz instantly recognises who and what it is that has caught her attention.

Jo.

She steps closer, bending down to take a closer look.

Jo looks younger, her hair is shorter, forming a sharp defined bob around her face. She has her arms slung around two other people. One of them Amy, ginger hair longer, a denim mini skirt defining the length of her legs, and next to her Rory, looking slightly less harried than he had a moment ago, but on the other side of Jo is a woman Yaz does not recognise, and yet the closeness of her and Jo’s bodies can only speak of an intimate connection, and Yaz’s heart jumps in her chest when she realises who it is she is staring at.

River.

The woman has a mane of curly hair, and it brushes Jo’s shoulders as the woman is tucked into Jo’s side, hand resting on Jo’s hip. She is smiling brightly, but her gaze is not directed at the camera, but rather to the woman next to her- her _wife-_ and her eyes are bright, creased with affection. 

Amy enters at that moment, speaking as she opens the door. “Sorry, Yaz, we were-” She pauses when she notices the photo in Yaz’s hands, and she closes her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. She looks to Yaz, whose cheeks are surely bright red at this point, and then understanding dawns on her face. “Ah. So, she told you, then?”

Yaz nods. “Yeah.” She coughs, voice hoarse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy, but-”

“S’alright, they’re displayed, you can’t really miss them.” Amy says, waving off her apology. Yaz puts the photo back on the mantlepiece and nervously clasps her hands together in front of her. “So…” Amy says, raising her eyebrows at Yaz, an expectant smile on her face. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask you something. Something about Jo…” Yaz begins, trailing off.

Amy smiles. “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?

“What?” Yaz says, feeling caught out, especially when Amy’s expression turns smug. She stutters, “Well, I-”

“Oh, Yaz, please it’s written all over your face. And if you two have grown close enough now for her to trust you with River…” Amy crosses her arms and looks Yaz up and down as if she is evaluating her. “I thought you might be a good influence on her.”

“Really?”

“MmmHmm.” Amy nods. “She’s been acting odd ever since you saved her from drowning. Well, odder than usual.” At Yaz’s confused look she goes on. “I’m trying to say she likes you, Yaz.”

“Really?” Yaz cannot stop herself from saying, sounding like a hopeful fool. She licks her lips, trying to collect her thoughts. “It’s only that I thought… when the told me about River…”

“You thought that maybe she might never be interested in anyone else?” Amy finishes for her, and Yaz nods. “Believe me, I know that idiot very well. We’ve been close friends since uni. She _likes you_. Only…” Amy gestures to the green sofa, and she and Yaz sink down onto it. Amy looks at her kindly as she explains, “River’s death, it was sudden and unexpected. Jo… She’s not moved on, not really. S’why she came here, new place, fresh start, and me and Rory were here so…” Amy shrugs. “But she hasn’t moved on. I was good friends with River. We were a team, all four of us, and then suddenly one was gone and… it was like we were losing a limb, between us. Jo must have felt as if she had been cut in half. Well, I know how she felt….” Amy’s eyes trail from Yaz to the floor, caught up in memories, slight frown marring her brow. “If there’s one thing you want to know about Jo, it’s that she’s obtuse when it comes to her feelings. As thick as pig-” She breaks off, smiling affectionately. “She always has been, but River’s death, it added another layer to that.” She sighs, and looks back at Yaz, eyes open and honest, and Yaz feels herself lean in instinctively. “What I’m trying to say is that Jo might be confused by her feelings, it might take her a while to figure out what she is feeling, but I’m not going to warn you off her.”

“So you’re not going to…” Yaz trails, trying to explain the insecurity which has sat within her ever since she decided to speak to Amy.

“Hate you for trying to get with my best friend who used to be married to my close friend?” Amy finishes for her, and Yaz nods with a sheepish smile. Amy shakes her head. “Nah. She’s been alone for a long time, I think it’s time for her not to be alone anymore. And River… she wouldn’t have wanted this for Jo, for her to be alone and unhappy, like she is. She might hide it very well, Yaz, but she really is unhappy. She needs someone to help her. I think that could be you.”

“How?” Yaz asks.

Amy shrugs. “Just… Treat her like you have been treating her, like she’s….”

“Brilliant? Fascinating?” Yaz says with a small smile.

Amy raises her eyebrows at her suggestion. “I don’t have to tell you that, then. I knew it. You seem responsible, Yaz. Trustworthy. I think you could really make her happy. And…” She places her hand, bright red nail polish catching Yaz’s eye, over Yaz’s. “I think River would want that. I think she’d have liked you, Yaz. _Really_ liked you.”

Yaz’s feels as though a heavy weight on her chest has been lifted and she can breathe easier for the first time since Jo’s news of the previous day. She had needed to hear this from Amy, she realises now, more than she had thought; to know from Jo’s closest friend that there might be a chance she would be interested in Yaz was fulfilling and, in all honesty, a big relief.

Amy gives her one last small smile before she rolls her eyes and says mischievously. “That’s enough emotional pep talks for me today. I need to get back downstairs. Rory is probably going spare with all the old people requesting refills.”

Yaz laughs, and it feels genuine, hearty. For the first time in a while, she finds, she is finding that she does not doubt herself or what she is doing.

“Oh.” Amy turns, ginger hair almost hitting Yaz in the face as she does. “It’s my birthday next week. We’re having a party. You are formally invited. Jo has a tendency to stand in the corner and not speak to anyone, I’m not going to let her do that this time.” She looks at Yaz pointedly, and she understands the woman’s meaning. 

* * *

Although Yaz feels encouraged at Amy’s words, it still sits within her, lying in bed that night, that slight hesitancy, that curiosity which then fuels self-consciousness, about whether she could live up to River. Yaz wishes she had asked Amy (and Jo) more about what the woman was like, and who she was past being an archaeologist, as the worry of trying to compete with her memory plagues her like a smoggy cloud. She turns, agitated, sleep evading her as the cloud forms around her, pushing her head into her pillow.

She is aware she is beginning to overthink how she will react and act when she next sees Jo, and tells herself not to rehearse her personality, as if she were an actor upon the stage, trying to win over the crowd, but rather the just be herself, as she has been doing since her disastrous flirting attempt and her resolution to relax following that. Only, the news about River has shaken her, and despite Amy’s encouragement she is not sure whether that hesitancy will disappear, the clouds clearing, until she next sees Jo.

She scoffs, and is suddenly confronted with the reality of all she has been feeling for not only the last couple of weeks, but the last couple of months. She realises that being with Jo has made her feel more like herself than she has for a long while, and she stifles a sob as she realises just how unhappy she has been in her life and work recently. Her mum’s words come back to her again: ‘ _I haven’t heard you sound so carefree in ages, sweetheart._ ’ Now, overthinking how she acts and what impression of her Jo gets, she feels like she is losing herself all over again, when she did not even realise she was lost.

She scrunches her eyes up, taking a few deep breaths, trying to stop herself from spiralling into a full-on breakdown. She thinks it all through, remembers Jo’s trust in her at imparting the knowledge of River and her death, remembers Amy’s trust in Yaz and her encouragement that she could be someone who makes Jo happy.

She reaches out and feels for her phone on the bedside table, and brings it in front of her face, finding the text she had sent Jo the evening previous: ‘ _thank you for trusting me_.’

“You, Yaz.” She tells herself. “No one else. You’re being ridiculous. Jo doesn’t want another version of her wife, she wants you. Hopefully.”

 _Oh god please say she does._

* * *

Yaz is stood outside the bookshop again as night begins to prepare itself for its entrance onto the stage of the world, the sun giving one last encore to Kennock Cove as it beats down in the early evening. She bites her lip, tapping her foot against the ground, feeling just as nervous and anticipatory as she had two days previous. It is Friday night, and the pub quiz looms before her. She scoffs at herself for having built it up so much in her mind; it is only a social night of fun between friends, and no one will be acting different, everyone will be at ease. Just because this will be the first time she has seen Jo since Wednesday and their day trip does not confer any particular significance on it. She tells herself what she had said the night before, lying sleepless in bed: just be yourself.

“Easier said than done.” She mutters.

There is a bang as a door closes, and then footsteps are coming her way. Yaz braces herself, taking a deep breath before she turns and greets Jo.

“Hi.” She says, slightly hesitant.

“Hi.” Jo greets her back, slightly quieter than usual, a sheepish smile on her face. She is wearing her usual attire of culottes and boots, with a t-shirt emblazoned with a rainbow, this time, and a long heather grey coat. “You ready to go?”

Yaz nods, and the two women set off down the road, sun in their eyes. Yaz has to squint, and finds it all very symbolic that she cannot see Jo properly in that moment.

“I warn ya,” the other woman says to break their silence. “I’m ace at the quizzes. Sometimes I get too excited.”

“From what I’ve heard that’s worked in your team’s favour.” Yaz replies, her words feeling strangely heavy on her tongue as they leave her mouth. “Ryan said you were a walking talking Wikipedia.”

Jo snorts. “I wouldn’t say Wikipedia. That gets things wrong all the time.”

Yaz lets out a bark of laughter, and catches Jo smiling at her out of the corner of her eye, blonde hair glinting in the sunlight which beams down on them. One side of her face is lost to the illumination, and Yaz remembers in that moment, not her insecurity about her own behaviour, but how Jo makes her feel; the sun warms her skin but Jo warms her from the inside out. She feels herself relax, the realisation that everything will be fine coming over her like a wave. Overthinking things has done nothing but wind her up into circles, and it will achieve no good like relaxing will do.

She laughs to herself. Relaxing seems to be the key word of this holiday so far. And now, back in Jo’s company with the other woman so close next to her Yaz could reach and touch her, she realises relaxing around Jo is much easier than being caught up in a performative state of self-consciousness.

The clouds of doubt disperse, and the sunlight graces both of their faces with its warmth. 

* * *

“Anne Lister!” Jo cries, grabbing for the pen in Rory’s hands and furiously writing down her answer. From the table next to them comes the scrabbling of another team’s pen on paper as they, too, write down their answer, having heard Jo’s victorious cry.

“Mate, you’ve really got to stop doing that.” Ryan says, shaking his head.

“It does defeat the point of knowing the answer, Jo.” Rory agrees.

“Sorry, got excited.” She says sheepishly, and Yaz cannot help but grin at her.

They are an hour into the pub quiz, and the topic is history. So far, Jo has seemed to excel at almost every question, and for every question she gets overly excited about, she shouts out the answer without thought. It is quite amusing to watch the scene play out every time, Ryan’s facepalm and Amy’s eye roll, and Rory’s wince as he tries to politely tell her to stop. And it has only gotten worse as Jo has consumed more alcohol, under both Yaz and Amy’s careful watch this time. Amy had pointedly sat herself on the other side of the table, forcing Jo and Yaz to sit together. Their whole team is cramped into a booth table, Jack on Jo’s other side. Amy, Rory, and Ryan sit on the other side of the table.

Amy has caught Yaz’s eye a few times throughout the evening, and each time she has had a knowing smirk on her face.

“You know, Anne Lister never stopped anything from getting in her way, if she could.” Jo says to Yaz as they await the next round. “She was the first woman to climb the mountain Vignemale in the Pyrenees. Married a woman despite society’s opinions of female relationships. Amazin’, isn’t it? How there will always be people who defy the odds.”

“It’s like the odds are there to be defied.” Yaz replies, and Jo gives her a long look, face open with amazement. Yaz shrugs and jokes self-depreciatingly. “Not just a pretty face.”

“Oh, Yaz, no I didn’t-” Jo goes to reply, embarrassed, hands wildly gesticulating, but Yaz waves her off with a laugh.

“I’m joking. I know you would never.”

Jo nods, looking relieved. She takes a sip of her drink, and Yaz has her head turned, listening to something Rory is saying when she hears, very quietly in her ear. “Not that I don’t think you’re pretty.”

She turns, but Jo is not looking at her, and is draining the last of her drink, watching the quiz master prepare the next round, and the moment is lost.

Yaz barely hears the next round over the echo of those words in her ears. 

* * *

The team await the calling out of the answers, and everyone is another drink deep, well, everyone except Yaz, when Jack turns to her with his signature grin and asks, “You coming to Amy’s party next week, Yaz?”

Yaz nods. “Yeah. Amy invited me.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Jo exclaims, voice looser and slightly slurred as the alcohol works its way through her bloodstream. Amy and Yaz are both adamant on her not having another.

“Hey, Amy,” Rory says, waving his hand loosely in his wife’s direction. “You remember your birthday we spent by that lake in Utah?”

“Of course!” Amy cries. “How could I forget that birthday? Best one I’ve ever had! We were backpacking across central America.” She explains to the table.

“Yeah, and I’d planned this romantic picnic, with wine and posh cheese and everything, and then-”

“And then we threw you in the water!” Amy butts in, and Rory gives her a deadpan look.

“Yeah, well, that’s not the part I was going to focus on but yeah, yeah you did.” Rory replies. Yaz cannot help but laugh at the man’s slight embarrassment. Amy sticks her tongue out at him, taking a swig of her drink, and Rory’s shifts in his seat as all eyes focus on him in amusement. “I wasn’t the only one! River threw Jo in!” He gesticulates to Jo, who goes very still next to Yaz. Rory realises his mistake as he makes it, and his hand lowers, face creasing in apology. “Jo, I didn’t-”

“Oh yeah, she did, didn’t she?” Jo says, shifting in her seat, hands clasping together in her lap as she sits further upright. She has a small smile on her face, and Yaz can see she is trying to appease Rory. “I’d forgotten that.”

“Who’s River?” Ryan asks as he goes to place his chin in his hand. His elbow slips off the edge of the table as he does, and he jolts upright.

Amy and Rory look to Jo, and Amy goes to speak but Jo gets there before her, the words that leave her mouth sounding like bitter pills she has tried to swallow. “She’s my dead wife.”

“Oh…” Ryan says, sobering immediately, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. Yaz can see Jack cringe out of the corner of her eye.

“I think I’m gonna get some air…” Jo says, and she makes to move, Jack shifting out of her way so she can get past him.

“Jo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” Ryan begins to say but Jo waves off his apology.

“It’s fine, really.” She says, words slightly too short in tone to come off as completely genuine. “I just want to watch the sunset, think it’s ‘bout this time.”

She stumbles slightly towards the exit of the pub, her natural clumsiness exaggerated by the alcohol she has consumed. Yaz is hovering on the edge of her seat, and she catches Amy’s eye.

“Go after her.” Amy mutters, and gestures with her head to the door behind her, through which Jo has just disappeared.

Yaz does not hesitate for a moment longer, squeezing past Jack with a muttered ‘thanks’ and following Jo out of the pub, her feet steady, her pace sure.

She spots Jo immediately, the woman stood on the edge of the beach, just beyond where the pavement ends. She has her arms crossed and is bouncing on the balls of her feet. When Yaz approaches she turns her head and gives her a shaky smile, lips wobbling like a tight rope. She says nothing and turns to look back at the landscape in front of them, a scene of beauty which has become familiar to Yaz now, but which touches her with its spectacle every time she sees it, Jo included within that scene.

“You okay?” She asks quietly as they stand side by side, watching the sun slowly drift towards the horizon. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“No questions are stupid questions.” Jo says, and then her mouth quirks. “Well, some of the quiz questions were pretty stupid. Who cares when a football was kicked into a goal?” 

Yaz snorts. They fall into silence again, and Yaz can see Jo is trembling slightly next to her, hands clasping and unclasping into fists. She licks her lips, a question on the tip of her tongue she thinks she knows the answer to. Amy had encouraged her to be herself, that Jo would want no one else but _her,_ and Yaz knows she wants to know more about Jo to help her. If Yaz can do that, then… that makes up her mind, and she asks. “Do you like to watch the sunset because of River?”

Jo nods slowly, eyes not leaving their watch on the sun’s descent. “It makes me feel closer to her.” She admits quietly, and it feels like a precious gift she has bestowed on Yaz. Yaz tucks it in tightly near her heart.

“S’why I drink sometimes, too. Not, not overly, I’m no addicted or anythin’.” The words slip out of Jo’s mouth, ironically on the wave of their subject. “But it sometimes helps to make the pain a bit more bearable.”

Yaz nods. That is understandable.

“Where does it hurt?” She asks.

“Here.” Jo croaks, uncrossing her arms to press a hand against her chest. “Sometimes it hurts so much it _burns._ ”

Something in Yaz clicks into place and she steps forward and places her hand over Jo’s on the woman’s chest. Jo’s fingers feel cold and clammy under hers as she prises the hand away from Jo’s chest and holds it in her own.

“Let me help with that pain?” She asks quietly, the words a delicately spun thread between them, ready to either be delicately handled or ripped to shreds on Jo’s prerogative. “I want to help you if I can. You trusted me with this, and now I want to help you…If you’d like that?”

Yaz does not think she breathes whilst she awaits Jo’s answer, but she finds herself feeling incredibly calm, instinct taking over, she is carried on the current of her own concern, those jarring and rocky thoughts of self-doubt, like stones, long cast away into the depths. She realises now that they were always going to sink to the bottom.

Jo looks at her, gaze leaving the sunset. The sun’s light is reflected in her watery eyes, and Yaz cannot help but stare at that reflection, at how very much in her mind Jo and the sun have become entwined. Both beautiful, both powerful, both blazingly brilliant.

Jo blinks very slowly, eyes trailing over Yaz’s face, looking at her deeply past the layer of alcohol which coats her mind and her inhibitions. She inhales a sharp, shaky breath, letting it out slowly as her gaze meets Yaz, still flaming with the sun’s light.

“Yasmin Khan…” She murmurs, and it is strange to Yaz to hear her full name on Jo’s lips. Jo seems to be on the cusp of saying something else, but she shakes her head wincing, head bowing before she straightens, turning to watch the sunset once again. “S’hard, isn’t it? Being human? You have so many emotions and no one ever tells you which ones are the right and wrong ones to feel because it’s not that simple, is it? There is no right and wrong. You have to figure it out yerself….” She shakes her head, eye closing briefly before flicking open again. “And I don’t know how to solve the puzzle.”

“Let me help you?” Yaz offers. “You helped me, that night when I had my nightmare. Even if it’s just me being there if you want to talk, or not talk, or cry or…” Yaz trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished, trying to convey that she would be happy to help in anyway she could.

Jo takes in a deep shuddering breath, seemingly considering something, choosing her words very carefully. Or, Yaz thinks, trying to form sentences out of disparate words carried on tangled thoughts. “I don’t…” She coughs. “I don’t want to lumber all this on you.”

“You wouldn’t be lumberin’ it on me, Jo. You’re my friend.” Yaz says, hoping that is enough of an explanation to make Jo understand.

Jo smiles, head bowing, blonde hair falling over her face like a blanket. “Alright. I give in.” The words soft, woven from that delicate thread. She returns it back to Yaz as a gift, and Yaz takes it gratefully, smiling.

She turns, as does Jo, to watch the sun sink below the horizon, the finality of that action filling Yaz with peace in its certainty; the sun will always set, and the moon will always rise. In that moment, she is not sure why she ever doubted the immediately connection she has felt for Jo, attracted towards her, like a magnet, ever since that first sunset. Even if the road ahead is unknown, even if whatever runs circles inside of Jo’s head still remains a mystery, Yaz knows that that finely spun trust between them is a sign of perhaps knowing. It is a sign of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one- i really hope Amy was in character enough. Might mess around and post the next one early... it will depend on how i'm going with the chapters i'm still writing, i just feel like you don't get much in this one and everyone is so encouraging and i feel like you deserve more! Also, i'd like to get your opinions on chapter length- the chapters i'm writing now are averaging between 7,000-10,000 words- that's not too much? 
> 
> Ironic that i mentioned Anne Lister in this chapter (she's who i did my dissertation on) as i got my degree classification today and i've got a FIRST CLASS DEGREE in history!! I'm jazzed. 
> 
> anyway, see you at the next chapter!! xx


	11. Riding the Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm quite excited for you to read this one. I had fun with this.  
> Also i'm posting it early because everyone was so kind to me on the last chapter which i felt unsure of and writing later chapters i've had to split one in two AGAIN because the word count was just getting ridiculous, so I've got two chapters out of one initially!  
> Anyway, enjoy....
> 
> TW: minor injury (no blood)

“Yaz, love!” Grace says with delight as Yaz enters the shop with a now familiar ring of the bell.

“Hi, Grace.” Yaz greets, stepping into the comforting darkness of the bookshop. 

“What can I do for you, love?” Grace asks, standing from her stool behind the counter.

“Oh, I’ve just got a book to return to Jo.” She says, and then gestures with her head to above them. “She in?”

“She’s out at the moment, love, Ryan wanted to talk to her for some reason. I can take it and give it to her if you like?” Grace suggests. Swallowing disappointment, Yaz rummages in her bag and brings out the book, passing it to Grace, who reads the cover. Her face lights up.

“Oh, this is by Jo!” She says.

“Yeah, she let me borrow it.” Yaz explains.

After they had watched the sunset in each other’s company on Friday night, Yaz had accompanied Jo back to her flat, not wanting her to be alone, and Jo had not seemed to mind her company, lingering at her door front before Yaz had offered to come up with her. They had fallen onto the couch, cup of teas in hand, restorative for Yaz, sobering for Jo, and sat in a comforting silence until Jo had begun, cutting through the silence with a soft delicate knife made of words of nostalgia and love, begun to speak about River. Yaz had watched and listened, raptured, as Jo related tales of their time together, their travels, the things River did which she loved, which annoyed her beyond belief but she still loved River for; the information felt precious, like diamonds, and Yaz has treasured it close to her chest ever since.

In return, she had offered up her own stories, her own secrets and worries, feeling the heavy weight inside her ease somewhat as she did, Jo’s eyes wide and open, listening to every word as she sipped at her tea.

They talked late into the night, and to Yaz it felt almost like a dream, almost like that moment between could not exist at any other time than under the moon’s jurisdiction, which casts a strange, hazy fog over everything, one’s tongue loosened by the late hour.

And Yaz had found, upon contemplation the next day over a cup of coffee, that comparing herself to River was futile. Those stones of doubt which had sunk the night before becoming eroded as she understood that she would never be able to replace River, and that that was not the point. Yaz could offer herself to Jo, and that would be enough.

She had popped into the bookshop after that to find Jo back to her smiley self, giving Yaz a wide smile and her sincere thanks for the evening before. Grace had encouraged the two women to have lunch together on Jo’s break, which had brought them onto the subject of Jo’s doctorate. Yaz had been amazed to discover Jo has a published book, and, with some slight persistence, she had encouraged the woman to let Yaz borrow a copy. She cannot profess to understanding most of what was being said, astrophysics hardly cropping up in policework, but to absorb the words and know Jo had written them, that this was her passion, was enough for her to finish it over the weekend.

Returning it now, Monday morning, Yaz sees the surprise on Grace’s face, and wonders how many people know that Jo is a published author, if she has revealed that part of herself to many people in Kennock Cove.

“Well, I never knew she had a book.” Grace says, astounded, tucking the book safely under the counter. “A woman of many secrets, our Jo.”

Yaz nods in agreement. “I’m not surprised, seeing how good she is at explaining things on tours. Plus, she came with me on a road trip last week.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” Grace says, leaning back and looking Yaz up and down. There is a glint in her eye, and Yaz wonders whether Ryan has said anything to his grandmother. “You know Yaz, you should come with me and Jo next week to the Falmouth Cornish Heritage Festival. We have a stall, and Jo is doing some talks on Cornish history. It’d be nice to have an extra person there, if you don’t mind lending a hand!”

“Not at all, that sounds great!” Yaz exclaims. “I’d be delighted to come.”

“Lovely! I think Jo will be very pleased.” Grace says with a nod, settling back on her stall. “She’ll give you the details, love, I’m sure she’d like to hear it from your mouth that you’re coming.”

Yaz narrows her eyes at Grace, who gives her a nonchalant look, pretending to see something in the corner. “Oh, those books are out of order. Excuse me, love.”

She shuffles from the stall, becoming very preoccupied with a bookshelf in the far corner, and Yaz hums before turning on her heel and bidding the woman farewell, Grace waving her off with a knowing smile. Yep. Yaz is sure Ryan has told her.

Yaz heads down into the village and harbour, double checking she has everything she needs in her bag; she has signed up for surf lessons this morning at Ryan’s pestering, and, although she is secretly looking forward to it, she is just hoping it will not be her and a bunch of children being instructed.

She has not been in the surf shop yet, and when she enters she is greeted by a large wall covered in surfboards and body boards, with wetsuits to her left, and a counter to her right, behind which is stood Ryan, who is talking to someone, and when Yaz looks-

“Jo!” She says, surprised to see the woman in the shop. Then she remembers that Grace had said Ryan had wanted to talk to the other woman. “Hi!”

“Hi, Yaz!” Jo greets, looking equally surprised.

“I’ve dropped your book off with Grace at the bookshop.” Yaz tells her. She does not want to bring up the Falmouth trip in front of Ryan, who is watching them both with a smug look on his face.

“Oh, fab, thanks Yaz!” Jo says. She shifts, and catches herself as she almost trips on a tub full of swimming nose clips. Ryan facepalms and Yaz has to bite back a laugh as Jo looks a bit sheepish. “What are- what are ya doing here?”

“Oh, I’m doing surf lessons this morning.” Yaz explains.

“Oh, amazin’!” Jo says, curling her hands around the ends of her sleeves. “I’d love to do that, only… I don’t think I’d balance very well. I’d just be falling off every minute, me.”

Yaz laughs. “Believe me, I don’t think I’m going to be much better.”

“You could always watch, Jo.” Ryan says with feigned casualness, picking at an imaginary hangnail.

“Oh.” Jo says, looking between Ryan and Yaz, blonde hair brushing her shoulders. “I mean, I’ve got nothing else on today if you- if you don’t mind, Yaz?”

Yaz does mind, sudden fear of embarrassment coming over her. She does not want to make a rookie mistake and fall off her board in front of Jo. Then she catches herself, thinking: Jo is not going to laugh at you, the woman trips over her own feet about ten times a day. If anything, it might make her feel better to see Yaz being the clumsy one for once. The sudden need to impress Jo, not just with what she hopes might be her natural talent for surfing, but also by making her laugh, encourages Yaz to shrug and say, “Yeah, if you want.”

“I’ll show you to the changing rooms, Yaz.” Ryan says, ticking off her name on a signup sheet on the desk. “Jo, you can get a good view if you sit on the end of the jetty.”

Jo nods. “Well,” She says to Yaz. “I’ll see you out there.”

Yaz smiles, and the other woman passes her by with a smile of her own. She turns at the door when Ryan calls her name.

“Jo?” He says. His tone is sincere, and his eyes honest as he says, “I really am sorry.”

Jo gives him a small, understanding smile. “It’s no mind.” She says, before turning to leave.

Yaz looks to Ryan once the other woman has left the shop. “What was that all about.”

“Oh, err, I were apologising to her, actually.” Ryan says, fiddling with his earlobe. “I had no idea ‘bout her wife, Yaz. None. I felt bad that I’d been treating her a bit… badly.”

Yaz nods, amazed at the man in front of her, reminded once again of how old they are, how they have both matured in the years since school. “I’m sure she understood you never meant it maliciously.” She says, and Ryan nods, but he shrugs awkwardly with one shoulder.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad.”

Yaz gives him a light pat on the arm, leaning over the counter. “It’ll be fine. If it makes you feel, any better, I’m just about to possibly embarrass myself in front of her.” She says, to make him feel better.

“Come on,” Ryan says, gesturing behind him. “Let’s get you kitted out for embarrassment.” 

* * *

Yaz is overly aware of her body when she steps out onto the beach in her borrowed wetsuit. On shift at work, she is normally encumbered with a large vest for practicality’s sake, and there is nothing flattering in the black work trousers and boots she adorns her bottom half with. Now, covered in clinging neoprene, she is aware every curve of her body is on display. She is relieved she is in such good shape, and that her job keeps her that way.

Her instructor, a sandy haired man in his thirties, leads her and a handful of other people, all adults (‘ _thank god’,_ she thinks), out to the beach, to where he has set up surfboards for their use, on the edge of the shore. Yaz spots Jo, sat with her legs swinging off the end of the jetty, a takeaway cup from Pond’s Pastries in her hand. Fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest, she waves at the woman, and Jo falters, some tea sloshing over the side of her cup as she goes to take a sip, spilling over her fingers. She waves back as she shakes them in the air to dispel the hot liquid, smiling bashfully. Yaz wonders what it was that surprised her so much, and secretly thinks, and hopes, she knows the answer.

The lesson goes well, and Yaz soon finds herself falling into a rhythm upon her surfboard after she has nailed the basics. The waves are small enough that she is able to keep her balance, and at one point she stays on until she hops off onto the beach. She can hear Jo clapping, and she sends the other woman a quick bow.

The lesson is almost at an end by the time it happens. Throughout the time, she has kept one eye on Jo, watching her as she drinks her tea on the end of the jetty. Yaz is on her board, and she has positioned herself ready to stand, and she gets herself up on sure footing, finding a stable position very easily. She glances up at Jo, and sees-

Oscar is talking to her, has had the gall to sit down next to the woman on the jetty. Yaz cannot see, from her position out at sea, how Jo is reacting, but the sight of the other man is enough to distract her and she wobbles, desperately trying to maintain her stance. She can hear the instructor calling and telling her to jump off before she gets too much in the shallows, but Yaz’s mind is elsewhere, stuck up on the jetty with Jo and Oscar, and she wobbles again, but before she can jump off, she is forced off as her board rams into the shoreline, and she is thrown off of it, hitting the shallows with a thump.

She is aware of a sharp pain in her side, and she gasps, trying to sit herself up, confused as to how she had gone from being upright on her board to face down on the ground with a sharp pain in her side. It had all happened too quick she is bewildered, and she winces, crying out a little as she manoeuvres from her front onto her behind. She can feel a hand on her shoulder, and a voice talking to her, but she is too caught up in trying to breathe through the pain, which lances through her right-hand side, by her right lung, to hear the words it says.

“Yaz!” Another voice shouts, and then suddenly Jo is at her side, getting her trousers wet as she sinks into the shallows next to Yaz. “Get Martha!” She shouts to someone, but Yaz does not know who.

“Yaz? What hurts?” Jo asks, placing a gentle hand on Yaz’s shoulder, trying not to jostle her too much.

“My side.” Yaz gasps out, curling her hand protectively over her right-hand side. “My ribs.”

“Martha is coming,” Jo soothes her, “She’ll look you over.”

“Ooh, that looks nasty.” Another, snider, voice says. Yaz glances to see Oscar looming over them, hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. He stands just out of the shallows.

“Oh, leave off, Oscar.” Jo says, and she splashes the man with her hand, splattering his trousers with sea water.

“These are Dolce and Gabbana, Joanne!” Oscar says angrily, stepping away and frantically wiping at his trousers.

“Well you should have thought about that before you decided to taunt Yaz like that.” Jo says, not looking at him but instead head bent down to look at Yaz.

Yaz can almost hear the retort on the tip of Oscar’s tongue, simmering like a boiling pot, but before he can reply another calls out for everyone to make way, and then Martha is on Yaz’s other side, first aid bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hi. Yaz, wasn’t it?” Martha says, and Yaz nods. “What’s happened here?”

“She fell off her surfboard.” Jo explains for Yaz. “The ribs on her right side hurt.”

“Is there anything else that hurts?” Martha asks. “Are you alright if I feel your limbs for any breaks?”

Yaz nods, “I can’t feel anything else.

Martha does a quick yet thorough check of her limbs for any other injuries, but must be satisfied there aren’t any when she rises onto her haunches, hands on hips.

“Okay, Yaz, I think the best thing to do now is, if you can move, we get you up to the station and have a look at you there, yeah?” Martha says. She glances up to Oscar. “Get rid of a crowd.”

Yaz nods. “Yeah. I think I can move if I just…” She goes to bend her legs under her, and, with Jo and Martha’s help, rises to her feet.

They move slowly across the beach, and Yaz keeps her head bowed, conscious of the many other visitors and tourists who are watching their slow journey. It is only when they are in the privacy of the coastguard station and making their way along that blank corridor to the medical room that she raises her head and looks around.

Martha and Jo deposit her on the examination table, and Yaz sinks onto it gratefully. Breathing is difficult with the constant stabbing in her side, and she worries about what damage she might have caused herself.

“Martha needs to examine you, Yaz.” Jo says to her, voice and eyes kind. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yaz nods. Perhaps it is the pain and the shock, but she desperately does not want Jo to leave.

The situation only gets worse as the three of them work to remove Yaz’s wetsuit, and she thanks Allah that she had put a bikini on underneath. The pain builds into a crescendo as Martha and Jo try to gently remove her arms from her sleeves and she cries out louder, telling them to stop.

Martha contemplates her for a moment before asking, “Yaz, do you want me to give you some pain relief? It will help the process.”

Yaz nods. She does not like the sort of pain relief doctors give; she had been hurt at work once and required pain medication, and she had felt terribly groggy. But, in this moment, the pain is too great, and, frankly, too annoying for Yaz to care.

Whatever Martha gives her, injecting it into her bloodstream, works almost instantly, and Yaz sighs out as the pain dulls to a slight throb, closer to a papercut. Martha and Jo get to work and finally they remove the wetsuit, letting it rest at her hips, so that it is still covering her legs.

Yaz barely feels as Martha prods very carefully at her side, examining the damage. Jo takes Yaz’s hand and keeps it within her own, thumb gently running over Yaz’s knuckles. Yaz watches the action, starting to feel woozy and lightheaded and loose. “That feels nice.” She says, tongue feeling too big in her mouth.

“Good.” Jo says, smiling at her with concerned eyes.

“Well, the good news Yaz is that you haven’t broken your ribs, haven’t even cracked them. They are badly bruised, though, so I want you to rest for the next few days, take it easy. They take up to three weeks to fully heal so no vigorous exercise.” Martha says, pulling off her latex gloves. She looks between the two women. “Jo, if you’ve got no place to be, could you stay with her?”

Jo nods. “Of course. I’ve got nowhere to be. It’ll be returning the favour.” She says, referencing her own medical emergency. Yaz is too caught up looking at Jo’s hand in hers to react other than smiling widely. Jo is staying.

“She might be a bit out of it.” Martha warns Jo, who gives a solemn nod.

There is a knock at the door and then Ryan is peering in, face worried. “Hey, uh, I got Graham to bring his minibus down if you wanted to get back to Yaz’s cottage in that?”

“Brilliant, thanks Ryan!” Jo says. Yaz looks between the two of them and smiles even wider.

“S’nice that your friends now.” She says.

“Ahh, cheers mate.” Ryan says, scratching the back of his head.

“She’s not as weird as you thought, Ryan.” Yaz says, placing her other hand over the one linked with Jo’s. Next to her, Jo’s eyebrows raise, and she looks at Ryan expectantly.

“Errr…” He groans, eyes wide. He gives Jo an awkward grin. “I didn’t think you were weird, I were just, I said you were-”

“Ryan, it’s fine.” Jo says, cutting through his scrambled explanation. “I’d rather be weird than normal. Right,” She turns to Yaz, breaking their hand hold and instead slinging Yaz’s arm over her shoulder. “Come on you, let’s get a shift on.”

Yaz hums, pleased, at the fondness in her tone. She lets Jo guide her toward the door, Ryan leading the way for them. Reality seems to blend, like paints on a palette being mixed together, and Yaz the reluctant artist who cannot find the energy to pick up her brush and paint them into something discernible. She feels herself being led into something, and a comfortable seat is under her, a belt being strapped gently across her, and then a warm figure is at her side.

“Here’s her bag.” A voice says, Ryan, Yaz thinks, but she closes her eyes, the palette becoming too overwhelming.

There is a bang, and Yaz jumps. A voice next to her, warm at her ear, tells her it is all alright, and Yaz trusts it, because she knows that voice, and it brings her warmth, so it must be dependable.

She thinks she must slip into sleep as they begin to move, as one moment she is still, next to that warm voice, and the next someone is encouraging her to move, a hand on her arm. She blinks her eyes open, coming slightly more awake, and looks around her, the world much more solid now, no longer a mess of paint on canvas.

“Come on, Yaz, let’s get you inside.” Jo says. She is stood in front of Yaz, a little lower than she, and Yaz realises she is sat in the front seat of Graham’s minibus, Jo outside, and gently encouraging her to slide out. Behind Jo, Yaz sees, is her cottage, and she feels a rush of relief to know she can lie down in a moment, and that urges her to slide herself across the seat and slowly out of the minibus.

“I’ve got your key.” Jo says, as she guides Yaz’s arm over her shoulder once more and leads them to the front door.

Yaz watches with a detached apathy as Jo guides her through the front door, dropping her bag in the hallway, and then into the lounge, depositiong Yaz carefully on the couch.

“I’d take you upstairs to the bedroom, but I don’t know if we’d manage the stairs.” Jo says apologetically.

_‘Upstairs to bed?_ ’, Yaz thinks. “Another time.” She says, and above her Jo stills, watching her closely.

“Let me get you some clothes.” She says and leaves the room.

Yaz lazily watches the sky outside, seagulls cutting through the pure opulent blue every now and then, drifting along happily on her drugged haze. The clattering of Jo entering the room makes her jump, and she slides back into reality, blinking up at the woman in front of her, a pile of clothes in her arms.

“Here we are.” She says. “Umm, right.”

If Yaz were more coherent, embarrassment might flow through her veins that this is the first time Jo is seeing the majority of her body uncovered, but she is drifting down a river of drugged blissed, and the thought does not cross her mind. She simply watches Jo’s face as she helps Yaz change into soft shirt and trousers, keeping her movements practical and touching her only when necessary, to protect Yaz’s privacy. She keeps her bikini on, and a small part of Yaz’s mind which is not touched by the painkiller in her system says that might be a good thing; she hardly wants the first time Jo sees her naked to be when she is out of it.

“Right, there you go.” Jo says, putting her hands on her hips and letting out a long breath. “Now you lie back. Do you want any water?”

Yaz shakes her head, allowing Jo to carefully guide her back onto the cushions. She lets out a sigh, and a wave of tiredness so heavy hits her she can feel her eyes sliding closed.

“I’ll let you sleep.” Jo whispers. “I’ll be right here.”

“Jo.” She says, and the words she summons on her tongue come slowly but truthfully, and if Yaz were in her right mind they would come unbidden, sliding out in the river of drugged exhaustion. “Thank you. You’re… I’m so much ‘appier ‘ere. Than at’ome. You make me so…”

“So what?” Jo asks quietly, and Yaz wonders whether she dreams the gentle hand caressing her hair back from her face.

“So happy.” Yaz admits, and then she allows herself to fall into a deep, dreamless pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Yaz.
> 
> I did some research, and i'm not sure it's actually that easy to bruise your ribs surfing, and also I know next to nothing about medicine and pain relief but for the sake of plot Yaz bruises her ribs and Martha gives her strong medication! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'll see you Thursday for the next chapter :)


	12. Time and Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaz tells the story that we see in 'Can you hear me' in this one- I wasn't sure whether to put it as a trigger warning or not as I do not discuss it in a detailed manner, but just in case, I'm letting you know here.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Waking, for Yaz, is like climbing out from a bottomless pit of blackness. She is trudging through treacle, eyes fighting against its stickiness as she blinks blearily to open them. She is suddenly hit by bright light, and she winces, groaning as she brings a hand up to rub at her eyes. She catches herself as the movement of her arm upwards causes a sudden, sharp pain in her side, and with that pain comes more clarity, and the events of… wait, what time is it? What day is it?

She tentatively blinks as her eyes adjust to the pale light of morning, the room around her coming into focus. Her body is stretched out in front of her, a blanket covering all but her toes, which she can see when she wiggles them. She tries careful movement once more, letting out a slight gasp as her ribs- yes, she remembers now, she had hurt her ribs- protest, but she manages to get herself sitting upright with her back to the cushions, and she lets out a long sigh.

She racks her brain, dissecting each and every thing she remembers with a fine tooth comb, but she only has vague bits of debris for her efforts, bits and pieces of broken recollection, but not enough for her to reconstruct the delicate china cup of events. She remembers Jo’s face, scrunched in concern, and Martha, all calm professionalism, but then…. Not much at all, just a blur of colours and noises and words in her head. Oh no. She hopes she did not say anything to Jo.

She hears a shuffling movement to her left, and she jumps, head turning, body forced into stillness by her aching ribs. She freezes. And then something in her melts.

Jo is sleeping in the armchair on the other side of the room, head tipped back in what must be quite an uncomfortable position. Yaz winces, knowing the other woman will probably have the most hideous crick in her neck when she wakes. What really astounds her, though, is that the woman is there at all, and, by the looks of it, has been there for a while, seeing as she has fallen asleep; Yaz assumes all night.

Jo had been concerned, so concerned she had slept in an uncomfortable armchair in order to make sure Yaz is okay. Suddenly the pain in Yaz’s side is forgotten, replaced with a buzzing joy. Jo was worried about her. That joy is translated into a beaming smile, but the light soon dims as she worries whether she had embarrassed herself in front of her. Knowing Yaz’s luck, she surely has.

Yaz has always been independent and strong-willed, and she has never liked being ill. She is so grateful to Jo and glad of her concern, but right now she finds the urge to prove to both herself and the other woman that she is not weak. Plus, she does not want to disturb Jo; she wonders how much sleep the other woman got. She feels groggy, that horrible unpleasant feeling that comes when one is ill or incapacitated, and she feels desperate for a shower, her skin and hair crispy with dried seawater. She surely looks a mess. She throws the blanket back with the arm on her good side, and the t-shirt and sweatpants underneath are revealed. Wait. She was not wearing these yesterday. The last thing she remembers wearing-

Oh no.

She hurriedly looks down her top and lets out a sigh of relief. Still in her bikini. Okay good. That is good. Jo, or at least she hopes it was Jo, she would rather the other woman than, say, Ryan, must have changed her into these. She laughs at herself then. Jo would not strip her naked whilst she was off her head on painkillers. She thinks the last twenty-four hours must be taking her toll.

Steeling herself, Yaz grits her teeth and gently begins to swing her legs off of the sofa. She makes it quite far, just perched on the edge and ready to push herself up, one hand clenching the arm of the sofa, another pushing down on its cushions, to propel her forwards, but at the sudden movement her ribs howl with pain, and Yaz lets out a loud gasp, stumbling back down onto the sofa.

The sound wakes Jo, and a moment later the other woman is gasping awake, sitting bolt upright with an almost comedic look of confusion.

“Wh-what.” She mumbles, blinking, and then her eyes land on Jo and they widen, Jo bolting out of her chair impressively fast. “Yaz! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yaz persists, caught between fondness for the woman’s concern and irritation at herself for having failed to even get herself up off of the sofa. “Just… had a bit of trouble.”

“Do you ribs hurt? Do you need some painkillers? Martha left you some.” Jo says, kneeling down in front of Yaz, one hand hovering over Yaz’s arm, as if she is unsure whether to touch her or not. It makes Yaz feel fragile, and she swallows down her distaste at such a thought. She _hates_ being ill. 

“That would be good.” Yaz says. “What-what happened yesterday? After I- well, you know?”

“Ahh,” Jo scratches at her forehead. “Well, Martha gave you a- you remember that?” At Yaz’s nod she continues. “After that we came up here, Graham drove us in his minibus, and you’ve been asleep ever since.”

“You stayed here the whole night?” Yaz asks, and she sees Jo’s cheeks tinge pink just a little.

“Ahh, yeah. I were worried ‘bout ya. Sorry, I can go if-”

“No, it’s fine.” Yaz assures her. “Thank you.”

Jo looks up at her, hazel eyes warm. Today they look like melted caramel. She smiles. “I were really worried about ya. You were really out of it.”

“Oh, god…” Yaz mutters, running a hand over her eyes. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”

Jo is quick to assure her. “No. You were fine. Well, not fine, but… ya know.”

Yaz lets out a sigh of relief. Good. That is good. Still, she needs to know, “So, I didn’t say anything embarrassing or...?”

“No.” Jo says quickly. Almost too quickly, but Yaz says nothing. Jo’s eyes travel over Yaz’s face, and she gives her a reassuring smile, a second too late. “Not at all. Here, let me get ya some water and those painkillers, you relax-”

“I’d rather grab a shower, actually.” Yaz says. “I feel gross.”

“Oh! Of course!” Jo says, and she stumbles upright, looking a little embarrassed. She does not look at Yaz when she says, “Yeah, sorry, I err- I thought ya might be more comfortable in some clothes, so I-”

“It’s fine.” Yaz assures her. At this moment, it seems Jo is more embarrassed than Yaz is, and it calms her somewhat to know Jo is not using any of the benefits she has of remembering all that happened yesterday to try and treat Yaz like an invalid. She had not expected such behaviour from the woman, but her head is still foggy, and she feels like she is on the backfoot somewhat. However, her defensive walls crumble a little at the sight of Jo’s equal unease. She immediately cracks a joke to lighten the room for both of them. “Better than me just in my bikini, isn’t it?”

Jo laughs, face scrunching up in relief, and she looks back down at Yaz again. “Not very comfy.”

“No.” Yaz agrees with her own smile. She shuffles forwards again, determined to get herself up off of the sofa. Jo immediately jumps to help her, and Yaz lets her, this time, conceding defeat. The other woman’s grip is firm and warm, and shards of memory from yesterday recall that touch. Jo really had been there the whole time.

“You gonna be okay gettin’ up the stairs?” Jo asks her as they make their way into the hallway and to the staircase.

“Yeah.” Yaz assures her, hand grabbing for the banister. Jo’s touch releases, and Yaz suddenly feels cold.

“I’ll get you those painkillers.” Jo says with a polite close-lipped smile, padding off into the kitchen.

Yaz makes her way slowly but surely up the stairs, the banister a welcome aid, and finally reaches the landing, pushing open the door to the bathroom. She closes it lightly behind her and rests against it for a moment.

She does not know how she will get out these clothes.

The sweatpants she manages to wiggle out of, kicking them off her ankles. The top, however, is another problem. Bending each and every way gives her no joy, and she huffs, pushing a lank strand of hair out of her face.

Maybe she should have waited until the painkillers had kicked in; her stubborn determination is to blame.

There is a knock at the door, and then Jo’s voice calls, “I’ll put them out here, Yaz. They’re on the little table in the corner.”

“Thanks.” Yaz calls, the frustration evident in her tone.

There is a pause. “…You alright?”

Yaz sighs, biting her lip. This is not a position she had hoped to be in: the woman she has a humongous crush on seeing her unable to even change out of her clothes, having watched Yaz deck herself and then get off her head on painkillers the day before. Embarrassment still sits within her, despite Jo’s non-judgemental demeanour, and Yaz weighs up her options, aware of the other woman waiting on the other side of the door.

Finally, she gives in; Jo has already seen her in her bikini, she had been the one to change Yaz yesterday.

“Could you give me a hand?” She asks tentatively, and steps away from the door. Jo’s head peeks in, looking cautiously around the room, obviously not wanting to look at Yaz in case she is not decent. “I can’t get my top off.”

“Oh, of course…” Jo says, sliding into the room with an uncharacteristic gracefulness. She is hesitant and unsure as she helps Yaz manoeuvre herself out of her shirt, and it is strange to see the woman so tentative; even her limbs are behaving. Once again, their equal awkwardness qualms Yaz’s concerns. Jo would not want to unnecessarily embarrass her, and she certainly will not laugh at her, of that Yaz is sure. It almost takes her breath away as she realises how relieved she is to have met this woman.

“There.” Jo says, when Yaz’s shirt is finally off. She bunches it between the hands, fidgety. Her eyes flick across Yaz’s face, and then very briefly to her chest. “Do you want me to help you with the bikini, too?”

Yaz’s cheeks immediately flush red like a traffic light, telling her to stop, to refuse the woman’s offer out of sheer mortification alone. “Jo, I couldn’t ask you to-”

The moment Jo spots Yaz’s embarrassment, something in her changes. She becomes calmer, more assured, and she gives Yaz a reassuring smile, throwing the shirt on top of the laundry basket in the corner of the room. “Yaz. You’ve seen me in a right mardy place. Please don’t think I’m gonna be thinking any less of ya for this. I want to help ya.”

Yaz’s walls crumble. Jo is here, _Jo,_ and she is putting Yaz at ease and looking after her and also trying to make sure that Yaz does not feel too discomforted by her presence. If the Yaz of a few weeks previous, when she had first clapped eyes on this woman in front of her, was to know that said woman would be here, having slept the night in an armchair to make sure Yaz was alright, she would surely be doing cartwheels all the way down to the harbour. Jo really cares for her. Yaz remembers her promise of Friday night, watching the sunset; she has assured Jo she would help, if she could, because she cared for her, she wanted to help her with the burden, and now she realises that the tide turns both ways, and apparently Jo wants to return her promise.

“Okay.” She nods, giving the woman a grateful smile, and Jo smiles back. Yaz turns, allowing Jo to reach the clasp which holds the bikini together in the small of her back, and the tie of the halter neck as well. with gentle fingers, Jo unties the halter neck first, and Yaz cannot stop the shiver which runs up her spine at the woman’s touch. Jo says nothing, and instead moves onto the clasp, which comes undone with a small _click_ which seems to echo throughout the room. Yaz holds the bikini to her chest with one hand and lets out a long breath.

Seconds which feel like years play out between the two, and Yaz does not know whether she is imaging that static between them once again, but the hairs on the back of her neck rise as Jo’s breaths lightly skate across her skin. “There.” The other woman says quietly, voice close in Yaz’s ears. Yaz sucks in a breath.

“Thank you.” She says without turning around, and then that static connection is gone, and Jo clears her throat, and Yaz can feel her body step away, a gust on coldness hitting her back.

“Right. I’ll leave ya to it.” Jo says, normal tone of voice resumed, and she is already slipping out of the door by the time Yaz turns back around again, almost tripping over her feet as she closes the door behind her.

Yaz ponders over those few seconds as she throws her bikini top to the side, unlacing the sides of her bottoms and discarding those, too. They were nothing and then possibly everything as well, and Yaz wonders, as she climbs into the shower and pulls the lever to turn it on, when something might give, the tightrope the two seem to be walking between friendship and something more suddenly snap and send them plummeting towards something like confrontation of each other’s feelings. Yaz wishes she could delve into the depths of Jo’s head, as scrambled as it is, to truly know what the woman is thinking and feeling for her. She has Amy’s words and the possible proof before her, in those seconds just then, and she hopes she is not working on a hopeful daydream that affection might reside in Jo’s heart when she recalls the feel of that static between them. Jo’s presence here, in the cottage, overnight and now, doing all she can to help, something which steps just out of the bounds of any other friendship she has had in the past… is that proof? Yaz knows one must survey the scene and look for clues, find the evidence before making the verdict but… what if what she is looking for is an optical illusion? What if it could be two different things, and the investigation into whether it is the one thing Yaz desires could ruin the other thing?

Yaz indulges in the hot shower running over her body, through her hair, soothing the pain in her side somewhat. There is a deeper pain, though, which rests in her core, as indecision rules within her. She is tired, she reasons, and needs to rest more before she can think what might be best to do, or even not do. Amy had told her to give Jo time to figure out her head, and Yaz wonders whether she should just wait for Jo. Yaz holds a lot of sympathy for the woman, and it is her privilege to help the woman heal an ever-bleeding wound left by River’s absence, but she also wishes time travel were a possibility, so she might zip to the future and know whether she holds out her hopes, and heart, for a reason. Were Yaz not so exhausted, and already filled to the brim with unknowns and uncertainties, she might recognise the fact that she is not here indefinitely, that her time in Kennock Cove is slipping away from her like sand in a timer. The beating down of the shower on her back suddenly feels like the beating heart of time reminding her of what she might lose, and how far her heart has slipped into the current of Jo’s tide.

She tips her head back, allowing the spray to cover her face instead, and allows it to wash away her worries and doubts and instead replace it with the relish of Jo’s company in her house. ‘Live in the moment’, ‘relax’, things Yaz has been recommended and has certainly committed herself to doing this holiday. She has to admit that it is definitely easier than trying to surf waves she cannot predict. She has already bungled the real ones.

Water fills her eyes as she continues to soak in the shower, in the moment. 

* * *

Yaz awakes the second time that day to the smell of cooking, and it is a smell so familiar that she believes, in her half-awake state, that she is back in Sheffield. It is only when reality begins to bleed back into her brain that she questions what she can smell, and she comes bolting awake with a gasp, blinking rapidly.

Cornwall greets her, in all its serene beauty, the sun having travelled a lazy path across the sky since she was last awake; it is later in the day, now, evening peeking out from the wings. She must have been asleep for some time.

She feels much better for it, and she carefully pulls herself into an upright position, curious as to why she can smell what she can. She last remembers having traipsed downstairs from her shower, freshly dressed, sporting a button-down shirt which she could adorn on her own, and Jo offering her some toast, but she has politely declined and instead headed straight for the sofa. She must have fallen asleep almost instantly. She wonders if Jo is still here, hoping she is, but surely it being so late in the day…. However, who else would be cooking in her house?

Straightening, painkillers still dimming the pain in her ribs somewhat, Yaz stands and carefully moves towards the direction of the kitchen, where the aroma seems to be emanating from. It smells like cooking and her Nani and their family home overlooking Sheffield on a rainy afternoon.

Only… something smells off, like burning, and Yaz frowns as she hears muttered curse words and exclamations and propels herself the last few feet into the kitchen, faltering at the site that greets her.

Jo is stood at the stove, hair up in a messy ponytail, looking completely flustered as she desperately prods at whatever is in the frying pan in front of her with a spatula, intermittent swear words leaving her mouth as the smoke of whatever is burning goes into her eyes. Yaz bites her lip, holding back a laugh, and instead she crosses her arms, and with a put-upon expression of confusion, coughs loudly.

At that moment, Jo manages to get a hold of the burning mass in the frying pan with her spatula, but she jumps at the sound of Yaz’s cough, and the charred food goes flying through the air, landing on the island counter behind her. Jo turns, eyes wide, and her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Oh, hi, Yaz! I was just-” she turns to look at where the food blob had landed, and she winces, nose scrunching up. She looks up at Yaz, apologetic and embarrassed, and something in Yaz’s chest clenches. “Well, I were trying to make you dinner. You said it were your favourite, but I- well, it didn’t go to plan.”

“You were trying to make me pakora?” Yaz asks, stepping closer to the island counter to peer down at the mess. Yes, it looks like pakora alright, but burnt and not of the right consistency to stay together in the pan, which is probably how Jo got to this point in the first place.

“Yeah. Sorry. You feel asleep and I thought maybe I’d make it for you, to make you feel better, but then the grocery shop didn’t have everything on the recipe- I looked it up on Google- and so I tried to improvise but then there was this whole thing with the potatoes and-”

“Jo, it’s fine, really.” Yaz says with a laugh and Jo shuts her mouth with an audible click of her jaw. “It’s the thought that counts.”

It really is. Yaz feels like her insides are made of melted butter at the thought that Jo had gone to all this effort for her, to make her feel better. Is she staring ‘it’ in the face or misreading the situation entirely?

“How about I direct you how to make it this time?” She suggests.

“Oh, brilliant!” Jo says, flicking a loose strand of hair out of her eye. “How are you feeling? Do you need any more painkillers? Water?”

Yaz smiles and waves her worried babbling away with a hand. “I’m okay. Some water would be nice.”

“Water! I can do that…” Jo says, trailing off as she hunts down a glass and fills it with water from the tap whilst Yaz slides herself into one of the stalls at the island counter. Jo passes the glass to Yaz with a small smile. She watches Yaz take a few sips, seemingly lost in thought. Yaz feels a little self-conscious, unsettled and a little disoriented still by having woken after sleeping in the middle of the day. It is that groggy ill feeling again and she shakes it off, basking instead in teaching Jo, spending time with her.

“Right.” She says. “Get rid of that and we’ll start over.” 

* * *

Yaz thinks this is the first time she has taken the role of teacher in an activity they have undertaken together, and it feels good to guide Jo in remaking the pakora, relaxing to watch the other woman’s hands at work, to see the slight poking of her tongue out of her mouth as she concentrates, the way she distractedly pushes her hair behind her ear every time it falls in front of her face. Yaz feels herself sinking into her seat happily, the dull throb of her ribs a background static to the strangely intimate act of guiding Jo through cooking her favourite dish. 

The second attempt is much more successful than the first, and Yaz suggests they enjoy it out on the patio table, Jo carrying the plates whilst Yaz carefully balances their drinks as she manoeuvres her battered body through to the front of the house.

“This is delicious, Yaz!” Jo says through a mouthful of pakora.

“Well you cooked it.” Yaz replies, cramming some of her own dish into her mouth. She realises she has not properly eaten since yesterday and suddenly she is starving.

“Under your direction. This is amazin’! Did your family cook many dishes like this for you?” Jo asks.

“Yeah, all the time. Nani was the expert. Mum never really got the knack for it, and dad… well,” She says with a breathy laugh. “He tries, but… it never quite works out like it should.”

Jo snorts. “Sounds like he and I would get on.”

It is a joke, and Yaz knows it, but the sudden thought of Jo meeting her parents, as a friend or…. Otherwise… Yaz clears her throat.

“Jo?” She begins, and the other woman hums to let Yaz know she is listening. “Thank you, again, for staying the night, and today. You really didn’t have to.”

“It were no bother.” Jo says with a wave of a fork wielding hand. “Martha said you needed someone with you, and it didn’t feel right to leave you. And…” Jo pauses, biting the inside of her cheek. She puts her cutlery down and leans forward across the table, hands curling into the ends of her sleeves. She does not look at Yaz. “I also wanted to stay to make sure you were alright. I couldn’t leave without… I had to make sure you were okay.”

Yaz tips her head to the side as she understands the meaning of Jo’s words. Of course… Yaz does not know the circumstances of River’s death, but Amy had said it was sudden and unexpected; Jo must have been spooked by the sight of Yaz in pain, and had needed to stay for not only Yaz’s sake, but her own, to appease the wound left by her wife’s passing. Which means… hope stirs like a sleeping lion in Yaz’s chest.

_She really cares about me._

Yaz smiles, and she makes to lean closer to Jo so she can look the woman in the eye, but her ribs protest. She settles for gesturing in Jo’s direction, the movement of her hand catching Jo’s eye so that she raises them to look at Yaz. “Hey… letting me in, remember? If you need to do that, I’m more than happy.”

_More than happy._ She wonders if Jo reads into those words Yaz’s own need for Jo to stay, her own want for the woman to not leave her, and not just because it will make Jo feel better, but because Yaz would rather be with her than be alone.

“Thank you, Yaz.” Jo says, and Yaz is glad to see the tension lining the woman’s face ease somewhat. Something catches her attention out of the corner of her eye.

“Jo, you’ve got a bit of…” Yaz reaches forward, picking the small piece of chopped onion out from Jo’s blonde strands. The other woman holds still as she does it, watching Yaz. “There.” She says, flicking the bit of onion off the end of her fingers. She can feel Jo’s gaze still on her and, in a moment of bravery, of sudden frustration with her own indecision, she meets the other woman’s eyes and looks at her long and hard. Jo eyes flick over Yaz’s face, grazing over her lips before coming to rest on her eyes again. Her brow creases ever so slightly.

“Did you…” Jo begins. “Were your parents… were they alright with you, when you…”

“Came out?” Yaz finishes for her. Jo nods. “At first it was a bit tense, you know in my religion it’s not really… well, you know.” Jo nods again, leaning forward in her chair. “But, they understood that this is who I am, and they would never want to change me, and that love for me was more important than anything else.”

“That’s beautiful…” Jo says breathlessly, face creased. “Ya family sounds amazin’ Yaz, not that I expected any different seeing as you’re… you.”

Yaz smiles, and she breaks eye contact as she is not sure she can contain the emotions within her, believes strangely that they might come spewing out of her eyes. She adds another notch to the mental compendium she is keeping of ‘things which might be proof.’ She takes a steadying breath, turning the conversation elsewhere.

“How about you?” She asks, pushing her pakora around her plate with her fork. “Did you come out to anyone or was it more just…” Yaz remembers Jo spoke of not having a proper family, of flitting between foster homes, and a sudden sadness creeps over her at the thought Jo might not have had what Yaz had, neither the family nor the acceptance when she came out.

Jo thinks about the question for a moment, twirling her fork between her fingers. “I… well, I suppose I never properly came out. River, actually, was the first to know because…” Her cheeks pinken a bit and she glances sheepishly at Yaz. “Well, because we were….”

“Ahh, I understand.” Yaz says, saving Jo from having to say it plainly.

Jo smiles gratefully. “Yeah. That. I’d known for a while, years actually, in my teens, but my last foster family, they were not the most accepting lot and I was old enough so I just…” She shrugs and a piece of pakora goes flying off the end of her fork and into the nearby flowerbed. “ _Ran away!_ never stopped running, really. Ran into River at university, and then we ran together, never settled for long, until Sheffield and then… well, and then here.”

Yaz gives her a small smile. “It must have been hard at first.” She keeps her reply intentionally vague, not alluding to any one thing, giving Jo the space to talk about what she would like to; Yaz finds herself still wanting to find out more about the woman, to know each and every thought in her brain. Some more than others.

“It was.” Jo concedes, with a small nod, shoulders hunching and head coming down to stare at her plate. “But I had control of myself, I could choose where I went, what I did…it were brilliant, in a way at first!”

“That part sounds nice.” Yaz agrees. She swallows, a secret crawling its way up her throat. They are sharing things, have been close all day, she supposes now is as good a time as any; _letting me in, remember?_ “I… umm… when I were about sixteen, I ran away from home.” She takes a breath as Jo shifts in her seat, leaning in closer to listen. “It all got too much. The pressure from school. The pressure from my family for me to do well in exams and to want to know what to do with my life. I know they didn’t mean to put more pressure on, but they did. And I were… I were getting bullied at school, really bad. Had been for years. One day, it just all got too much, and I ran away. If it hadn’t been for my sister, Sonya, phoning the police out of concern I might have… well, I might never have come back.”

She wonders whether Jo reads the other meaning she puts into the words ‘come back’, but she leaves it open, stuffing more pakora in her mouth. Jo watches her for a moment, head tipped to the side. “And then what happened?”

Yaz shrugs. “A police officer helped me out, inspired me to join the police, straight out of sixth form. It gave me direction, confidence… I suppose that’s why I’m struggling so much now, it feels like it’s failed me.” She finishes sheepishly.

“Your time will come Yaz, I know it.” Jo says confidently. “You’re brilliant, you’ll be brilliant in whatever you do.”

Yaz looks at her again, catching her eye intentionally, trying to dive their depths to see if there is anything which could give her a clue. Hazel eyes beam with Jo’s usual kindness, flickering like a small fire in a fireplace on a cosy winter’s evening. That fire could burn for many reasons, though.

“Speaking of adventures…” Yaz says, bringing the conversation back to the present and putting the past to bed once again. “Grace invited me to come along on your trip next week to Falmouth.”

“She did?” Jo says, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, said something about a history festival-”

“The Falmouth Cornish Heritage Festival.” Jo says nodding. “Yeah. I’m doing a few talks there. Feelin’ a bit nervous if I’m honest.” She confesses with a bashful smile. “Been a bit out of practice at big talks like that without moving around and being confined to a stage.” 

“Well, would you mind if I came?” Yaz asks, foot tapping against the ground. “I can always help you practice?”

Jo smiles widely at her, hazel eyes seeming to stare into Yaz’s very depths. “I would love it if you came, and not just because you can help me practice. Although, you will now be helping me practice.”

Yaz smiles back, letting out a long breath, and she nods, settling further back into her seat. She feels so content in that moment, past mistakes admitted to and future adventures awaiting, and she tips her head back, listening to the waves hitting the rocks below them. _Why,_ she thinks, _why can’t it all happen just like the tide? Dependable, drifting away from the shore but always coming back? Why is it that this is all so unpredictable? Why does this all make no sense?_

She feels like she did that first week, when her crush on Jo was blossoming, unsure of what to do. Only this time, the stakes are higher, and she herself cannot be the only one to act. Jo must play her part, too. That is, if she even knows she has been cast.

Yaz glances out of the corner of her eye at the other woman. She seems as relaxed as Yaz, eyes glancing up to the horizon to await the expected sunset, Yaz thinks, or simply watching knowing perhaps she could find happiness in the sunrise with Yaz. The symbol of something new, perhaps.

Perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm toying with the idea of making a Twitter account, as I've seen lots of others do it and it seems like a nice way to interact with others in the fandom- does that sound good to people? I do have a tumblr- you can find me at walker-lister :)


	13. Toeing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had to repost this because for some reason it was not showing up on the tags, so apologies to agnes_atom who had left a really lovely review on the first edit i'm just reposting now in the hopes more people will see it! But please know i have the email of your comment and appreciated it immensly :)

“… And that is why one could consider King Arthur perhaps the greatest mystery in this country, and, also, the greatest king.” Jo claps her hands together and turns to Yaz expectantly. “Well?”

“You missed out that bit about the dependence on source as to how a legend is perceived.” Yaz says, looking up from the card she holds in her hand. Jo smacks herself in the forehead with the palm of one hand when Yaz breaks the news to her.

“Ahh, I knew I’d forgot something!” She exclaims, tipping her head back with a frustrated sigh.

“S’okay, let’s do it again.” Yaz reassures her, reorganising the cards she holds in her hand so that they are in chronological order. She shifts carefully on the small stall she is perched on, ribs smarting.

She and Jo have spent the better part of the last two days in the bookshop together, Jo out of necessity to be there for work and Yaz accompanying her out of the sheer boredom of being alone in her cottage trying to rest. She supposes she could have texted Ryan to see if he was free but… secretly she is reeling with delight in getting to spend so much time with Jo; they have been together almost constantly this week. As a result, they have seemingly settled into a mechanism of operation in which they orbit each other with a mutual contentment which has allowed the anxieties Yaz had held on Tuesday, a few days ago, to settle somewhat, as she has found a comfortable space for herself to rest which still allows her to be close to Jo and to build on their budding friendship. Private jokes have formed, and looks at one another can say more than words at times; it is the sort of closeness to another human being which brings a smile to Yaz’s face and a warmth to her chest, except that warmth burns like a bonfire, seeing as this is Jo, and Jo seems to find Yaz as agreeable as Yaz finds her. Although… there is still something which lingers behind the other woman’s eyes, as mysterious as those myths and legends she waxes lyrical about, which Yaz cannot quite figure out. Jo speaks to her more of River, and of what it is like to be a widower but concerning what state that has left her heart in she is quiet. Almost too quiet, which stirs a suspicion which feels far too much like hope in Yaz’s chest, and she pushes it down.

“Right, here we go…” Jo says, turning in a circle in the middle of the room and narrowly avoiding knocking over a book display. “Hello everybody!” She says to the empty (barring Yaz) room. For the last two days the women have been working on Jo’s talk for the festival the coming week, Yaz patiently following Jo’s words on the cards the woman had written out in her spidery handwriting. “Welcome to this talk on Cornish history and its intersection with folklore and legend. My name is Doctor Joa- Should I say ‘Doctor’, or does that make me sound arrogant?”

“No, include it!” Yaz protests. “You earnt that doctorate and people should know that!”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus it’ll convince them of my argument more, knowing I’m a doctor…” Jo says. She runs a hand through her hair, shooting Yaz a pained look. “Agh. Why am I getting so stressed out? Why am I questioning everything?”

“You’re winding yourself up.” Yaz says kindly, and she makes a point of putting the cards under the counter. “How about we take a break? You know you know it, and I know you know it. Today just… isn’t going to be the day to go over it all.”

Jo sighs, shoulders dropping with relief. “You’re right, this is just a blip.” She comes over to lean her forearms on the counter next to Yaz. She looks up at her from under a curtain of hair, a glint in her eye. “You fancy a custard cream?”

Yaz sighs in a put-upon manner, a smile already creeping onto her face. “Go on then.”

Jo smiles and darts around the counter. To do so, she places her hand on Yaz’s back as she shuffles past her. Yaz fights the shiver which runs down her spine, keeping still.

That is something that has become a regular occurrence between her and Jo the past few days: the occasional touch here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary for two people who are now, Yaz supposes she should define them as, good friends, although to her that seems to come short of what Jo means to her. However, whilst purely chaste, a hand on the small of the back, briefly touching an arm or a wrist, the touches still manage to shock Yaz with electricity and send her pulse careening for a few seconds.

Jo reaches for a small tub under the counter, and pops the lid open, holding it out for Yaz to pick out a biscuit before grabbing two for herself. She removes one half of the biscuit and eats that before licking the cream away from the remaining half. Yaz coughs, almost choking on a small part of her own at the sight. Jo looks at her in concern, and to cover herself up she asks, “Why is this place called ‘Tardis Books’? What does ‘Tardis’ mean?” Yaz asks.

“It’s a Cornish word.” Jo explains through a mouthful of biscuit. “Means ‘possibility.’ I myself like to think that possibility means that it can transport you to any time and any place your heart desires.”

Yaz considers that. “Where would you go?”

Jo gives a small smile laced with equal parts sadness and happiness. “That’s a hard one. I don’t think I could pinpoint one place. You know me, Yaz, I love to roam! But you know what? I think right now I’m happy to be here, in this moment.” She says with a gesture to Yaz with a custard cream wielding hand. “With you.”

Yaz’s breath catches in her chest. “Really?”

“’Course! Why wouldn’t I be?” Jo says, shoving her second custard cream in her mouth. “But I tell you what, I’d be happier if we had tea. You want some?”

Yaz nods, preoccupied with her thoughts and the sudden warmth oozing in her chest like caramel, and Jo moves past her again, heading upstairs to her flat. Yaz physically and mentally shakes herself, calling out Jo’s name just as the woman opens the door in the corner. “Yeah?” Jo asks.

“Me too.” Yaz says, a little stilted, awkward. She coughs. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

Jo sucks in a deep breath, her face doing something so incredible complicated and confusing before she breaks into a wide smile, which ends in her polite close lipped version as she lets out a long breath. She opens the door and heads out of the room without saying anything. Yaz sighs: she had been expecting that. It seems that every time she does something which slightly steps over the friendship line, Jo seems delighted, which is, of course, fantastic and makes Yaz want to jump for joy, but which is then followed by something like fear. Fear of what, though? What is it Jo is so afraid of? _Just give her time._ Amy’s words seem to echo through her brain like a ghost which haunts it. Jo seems scared of her feelings, whatever it is she is feeling, and Yaz does not know whether she makes it better or worse each time she rebels against the line. In her defence, Jo has been doing the same, tentatively tiptoeing over the line, seemingly testing the waters for whatever reason. Yaz could confront her, ask her what she is feeling, but to do so would be to break this tentative and comfortable contentment between them, and she values that too much right now. It is the thing which, as she had realised the previous week, has been bringing her happiness like she hasn’t known for months. She could not take it, she thinks, were she to mess this up. So, for now, she will let them toe the line and throw glances each other’s way, tentative touches telling of a possibility of something…. _Else._ Something different. 

Yaz’s phone goes off in her pocket, and she pulls it out, wincing as the movement jars her ribs. Martha’s painkillers are helping but the pain is still there almost constantly, like an annoying itch. The text is from Ryan:

‘Enjoying all those books again today Yaz? 😉’

Yaz rolls her eyes. ‘How did you know?’

‘Nan. She’s obsessed with the both of ya. She’s looking forward to seeing you at Amy’s party tomorrow- together 😉’

‘Sorry to disappoint Grace but we’re not actually together’

‘….yet’

‘Shut up Ryan!’

‘This could be it ya know- party, chance to dress up, dance, and then…😉’

‘Shut. Up.’

‘I think there might be bets going around’

‘FFS! Ryan please don’t take it too far!’ She knows he is probably teasing, Ryan is too considerate and kind to actually make money out of Yaz’s emotional business, but the thought sets her on edge so much she needs reassurance.

‘Ya know I’m joking- I don’t wanna compromise anything 😉 I’m a good wingman’

‘Oh don’t flatter yourself 😉’ Yaz presses ‘send’ and clicks off the app, reassured that she and Ryan are on good terms. She sighs, shoving her phone back in her pocket, ribs be damned. Obviously, she is aware others have tuned into the growing closeness between Jo and her, having spoken to both Jack and Amy, but advice from close friends is different to a tirade of teasing from a group of people, and it makes Yaz uncomfortable. She squirms in her seat as Jo returns to the shop from the small door in the corner, pushing it open with her bum. She has two cups of tea in her hands, and her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth slightly as she concentrates on not spilling of the warm liquid on the floor.

“There we are…milk no sugar for you.” She says, passing Yaz a mug. “And nine sugars for me.”

“Jo!” Yaz says, blowing on her tea and taking a tentative sip. “You can’t keep doing that if you don’t want to develop health problems.”

“Nah, made of steel me.” Jo says with a wink. “Sheffield steel.”

Yaz groans and rolls her eye, revelling in Jo’s little snigger as the other woman revels in Yaz’s put-upon irritation.

Yaz’s mind wanders to Amy’s party as they drink their tea, Ryan having brought about the thought of whether or not she should ask Jo if they can go together. She would feel better going with the other woman; walking into a party on one’s own, especially when Yaz still holds that slight feeling of being the ‘new girl in town’, is never a pleasant experience, but on the other hand, if Ryan is to be believed, the two might be open to some large amount of teasing if they do. She hopes her warning to Ryan might be enough to prevent it and, she thinks indignantly, to hell with that, she wants to go with Jo. And there is nothing stopping her if the other woman agrees.

“Do you want to go together tomorrow? To Amy’s party?” She asks with a casual tone. Jo puts down her mug of tea and hops up onto the counter to sit on it. She swivels her legs around so that she is facing Yaz, and almost hits the other woman in the face with her boots.

“Sure.” She says, picking up her mug again. “You can help me decide what to wear.”

“Of course.” Yaz says. “Are you going for anythin’ nice, or….” She wonders what Jo might look like in a dress or, even better, a suit.

Jo shrugs, nose scrunching up. “Haven’t thought ‘bout it. Don’t even know where my nice clothes are…” Her tone has taken on that haunted, weary tone it carries whenever something is connected to River. Yaz decides to divert her attention.

“I can help you look, if you want? And if there’s nothing there then… well, we’ll both turn up in hoodies and be done with it.”

A small smile graces Jo’s face, and she raises her mug in a mock toast. “Alright. That seems fair.”

Yaz raises her own mug as well, and the two settle into a comfortable silence once again. Yaz bites the inside of her lip, a question on the tip of her tongue, something she has been dying to ask ever since the thought crossed her mind in those early days when her crush on Jo was a new and searing entity within her. “Can I curl your hair?”

Jo looks to her in confusion. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I think it will look nice!” Yaz replies, which she does, of course, although the real reason is because she has been dying to touch Jo’s hair since she first saw her. “Not anything too much, just some light waves…”

Jo shrugs again. “If you want. It’ll be nice to have someone help with all… that.” She says, with a vague gesture towards her head. She smiles sheepishly. “Never been good with all that.”

“You don’t need to be.” Yaz says, keeping her tone light to cloak the compliment somewhat. Toeing the line once again.

Jo looks down at her from over the rim of her mug of tea. “Neither do you. You’re very attractive.” Jo says with that matter of fact tone she adopts when she is being particularly oblivious to social cues. It is something Yaz has noticed about her, or rather, has noticed is missing, but if anything, it makes her like Jo even more; she finds it both adorable and hilarious. However, in this moment, on this subject matter, Yaz wonders whether Jo has adopted it purposefully to, like Yaz, toe the line. but it is in that oblivious manner she has that Yaz has noticed about her. The woman continues to speak, words a mile a minute as she considers her own statement. “Not that any woman needs to. Some women want to wear makeup because it makes them feel better about themselves, and that’s fine, and some do it to impress others, which is also fine. And _then_ there are those who do it as a sort of art form. Although, all three of those aren’t necessarily unlinked. I know, for example, Amy loves wearing a red lipstick because she likes how it makes her lips look, but I _also_ know in the early days of dating Rory she used to wear it because she knew _he_ liked how it looked as well, so- _Oh.”_ Just suddenly stops talking, face draining of colour.

“Jo? You alright?” Yaz says with concern, putting a hand on the other woman’s arm.

“Amy…” Jo says, and with a face almost comically contorted in horror she looks at Yaz. “I’ve forgotten to get her a present.”

Yaz sucks in air between her teeth. “Oh.”

“That’s not good.” Jo mutters, putting her mug down and jumping off of the counter. She begins to pace, hands running through her hair.

“It’s not the best.” Yaz has to admit.

“I’ve been so focussed on my talk and the shop, and then you got hurt- not that this is your fault Yaz I’m just the universe’s biggest idiot.” Jo puts her hands on her hips, tipping her head back and letting out a loud groan. “I can’t believe I forgot! I’m so dumb!”

She smacks herself in the forehead with her hand and Yaz winces, putting down her own mug and sliding off the stool, joining Jo in the centre of the room. “We can figure something out. It’s going to be okay.” She reassures.

“Right, think, what does Amy like, what does Amy need?” Jo says, beginning her pacing once again. “Well, Amy likes a lot of things. Travelling. Adventure. Rory. Paintings by Vincent van Gogh. _Me,_ I think _._ Fancy perfumes. Fish fingers and custard.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ Yaz says. Did she hear that right? _Fish fingers and custard?!_ Does she eat them together as one nasty snack?

“No, hang on, that’s me. She finds it disgusting.” Jo says, pointing at herself.

“Don’t blame her.” Yaz comments. Funnily enough, as disgusted as she was at first at the thought of the unconventional snack, the image of Jo eating it does not seem outlandish. The woman would eat anything, Yaz thinks; she had even been willing to try her failed pakora mess to compare it with the successful attempt; Yaz would believe Amy were she to tell her Jo ate dirt at one point in her life.

“Oh no, I’ve done it, Yaz!” Jo says, looking at the other woman in distress. “I’ve finally managed to destroy our friendship.”

“No you haven’t, stop being dramatic.” Yaz says, not unkindly. “I find people find a meaningful gift much nicer than something bought for them. Is there something we could make? Something that would really _mean_ something to her?”

Jo taps her forehead with her knuckles as she thinks. Yaz looks around the room seeking inspiration. Her eyes alight on Amy’s book, sat on display on one of the shelves, a small note of recommendation hand-written by Jo resting below it. “Something to do with her book, maybe?”

“Of course…” Jo says, hand falling away from her head slowly. She looks to Yaz with a growing smile. “Yaz, you’re a genius!”

“Am I?” Yaz says with a confused smile.

“Amy’s book! It’s her pride and joy, the closest she and Rory have come to a child.” She claps her hands together, wide smile on her face as she formulates a plan. “Oh, brilliant!”

“Go on then, spill.” Yaz says, watching as Jo practically prances over to Amy’s book on the shelf and scoops it up, looking at it almost reverently.

“We give her a hard-bound copy. A nice one, done all fancy like.” She says, thumb stroking over the cover of the paperback. “It never got printed in hardback, just went straight to paperback.”

“Are we going to have time for that?” Yaz asks. “I mean, surely we’d have to send it off to someone who can bind books. Or is there someone in the village?”

“Oh, I can do it.” Jo says casually, striding past Yaz, attention solely on the book in her hands.

“Right, because that’s a talent we all have. Bookbinding.” Yaz says sarcastically, secretly astounded at another of Jo’s many skills.

“Learnt it in a small French village. That’s also where I found my love of pain au chocolat.” Jo comments offhandedly, bending down to look at the small computer which sits hidden underneath the counter. She shakes the mouse a few times to wake it up. “I know Grace has a PDF copy on here, we print that off nicely, then bind it and hey presto!”

“Well when you put it like that.” Yaz says, leaning over the counter, careful of her ribs, to watch Jo’s fingers fly across the keyboard, enjoying the site of the woman fired up and inspired. She does not know whether she will be much help in this sudden bookbinding scheme they are now undertaking, but she is more than happy to sit back and watch Jo work.

Jo turns to her as she waits for the PDF to load, grinning from ear to ear. “Amazin’, Yaz! It all fits really well. Rory’s had a cake commissioned from Mrs Grose to look like Amy’s book, so this will look like I planned it ages ago, rather than being a last minute stroke of brilliance by you!”

“I can’t figure out whether you’re insulting me or complimenting me there…” Yaz says jokingly.

“Definitely complimenting.” Jo says, and her eyes flicker over Yaz’s face as she toes the line. “You really are brilliant.” The moment is gone as soon as it ended, but it is enough for Yaz to pick up on it. Jo turns back to the computer. “Now… Where is the print options?”

“Hang on, isn’t Mrs Grose the one who has dandruff?” Yaz asks with trepidation. “Is she the best choice to make Amy’s cake?”

“She’s the only person in the village Amy is guaranteed not to speak to, she hates the woman.” Jo says. “Plus, Rory got Jack to woo her into wearing a hair net. Don’t ask me how, I didn’t want to know.”

Yaz sniggers, finding joy in the anecdote of the people of Kennock Cove which stirs something like affection in her chest for this place and its people. It really is starting to feel more and more like home, and there is Jo in front of her, the heart of it all. Yaz cannot imagine life in Kennock Cove without her and she wonders whether she would have found such happiness had they never met. It feels strange that she might have been as unhappy as she had been before, and still is if she pauses to reflect on the life she is escaping from impermanently… and then it feels strange to realise she _was_ that unhappy in the first place without knowing so. Jo really is bringing to light things about herself Yaz had not realised… she feels as if she will become stronger for it, and stronger still if the line is crossed by either one of them; if only she possessed it now. 

* * *

“…And of course some people think he was a Welsh prince. Mary Stewart has a fantastic book series based on that premise.” Jo says as Yaz grasps a strand of her hair in between her fingers and winds it around the curling wand.

“I always thought he was Arthur’s servant.” Yaz says as she holds the hair in place. The strands are soft under her touch, and Yaz longs to run her hands through it, having to settle for carefully separating it into pieces for curling.

“That was the television show’s spin on it.” Jo replies, hands fiddling with a hair grip she is holding for Yaz. “Great show. Terrible ending.”

Yaz hums noncommittally as she focusses on separating another section of Jo’s hair for curling, the blonde strands falling in light waves as Yaz works her magic with the curling wand. She cannot wait to see the final result; she knows Jo will look gorgeous.

Amy’s present sits wrapped on the bed next to Jo, kept close by so that they remember to bring it with them to the party which starts in only about an hour. Jo had made easy work on binding the book in a soft bright red fabric cover, and the two of them had signed the inside with a special birthday wish, Jo insisting Yaz add her name as well, despite the other woman protesting she had not done anything to contribute to the making process except feed Jo custard creams every twenty minutes.

“This is from us, Yaz, of course you’ve got to sign it!” The other woman had protested. _From us._ That had sent Yaz’s heart lurching in a canter for quite some time.

Now, early evening descends and Yaz and Jo are dressed in their party outfits, Yaz kneeling up on the bed behind Jo as she curls the other woman’s hair. Yaz had gone for a floral jumpsuit with a red leather jacket over the top, hair half up with the loose strands spiralling down her back in a waterfall of curls. It is an outfit she saves for drinks with her co-workers, but it sits on the nicer side of casual, and she hopes it strikes the right tone for the party. At any rate, Jo’s style will suit her own.

The two of them had spent the previous evening going through the woman’s clothing, mainly hung up in the small oak wardrobe in her cosy bedroom. Jo’s bedroom is… well, understated would be a kind descriptor. There is a bed covered in navy sheets and a small bedside table, as well as the wardrobe, and a small chest of drawers upon which rests a mirror. A few cardboard boxes are shoved into a corner. It feels barren, a stopping place for Jo to simply sustain her body’s needs rather than a lived-in space. At first Yaz had been hesitant in the room, as anyone is in someone’s bedroom for the first time, but the two women had soon settled into a familiar pattern of interaction as they dove through Jo’s clothes in search of an outfit.

Yaz had queried a cardboard box labelled ‘fancy clothes’ but Jo had shaken her head with that pained smile she gets on her face at times when talking about River, as if trying to spare both Yaz’s feelings and cover up her own pain. Yaz wonders whether Jo knows it does not work very effectively, but she had let it go and they had settled for the clothing in the wardrobe, and finally settled on a smart pain of black culottes and a sleek satin shirt in navy and adorned in small white stars. Jo had already been dressed when Yaz had arrived earlier this evening and Yaz had taken a step back both mentally and physically at the sight of the woman in the satin shirt which clings to her small frame as if it is a second skin. Yaz’s pulse had jumped in her throat and she had had to assure Jo she was alright when the woman noticed her shock. Yaz thinks Jo is most likely oblivious to the way the outfit makes her body look, but Yaz certainly is not.

“There.” Yaz says, letting the last section of hair fall free from the wand’s hold. She switches the appliance off, placing it on top of the chest of drawers. “What do you think?”

Jo reaches forwards for the mirror and grabs it, holding it aloft as she inspects her hair, wide eyes blinking. “I think it looks brilliant! Really, Yaz, it just looks like a natural curl, not fancy at all. I love it!”

She turns around to look at Jo in delight, who beams. Feeling bold, and still, she supposes, in the role of ‘hairstylist’, Yaz reaches for Jo’s curls and pushes some back to let them sit nicely on her shoulders. “It suits you.”

Jo gives her a grateful smile, words sincere when she says, “Thank you, Yaz.” 

She is looking up at Yaz, who is still kneeling upright, and Yaz looks down into those eyes, accentuated with a dashing of mascara along her lashes, trying to look past the hazel whirlpools to the mind beneath them, _always_ trying to do that, it seems. 

Yaz clears her throat. “You’re welcome.”

Jo’s phone buzzes where it is resting on the bed next to her, and she jumps, grabbing for it, eyes widening with alarm as she reads whatever message is on the screen. “We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up. Jack says they’re all down there already.”

Both women clamber off the bed, Yaz checking her pockets to make sure she has her phone and keys as she says. “It will be alright. We’ll be fashionably late.”

Jo shoots her a small grin as she grabs the wrapped present off the bed, tucking it under her arm. “We’re not late,” she jokes. “everyone else is early. Time is relative like that. Shall we?”

She offers her arm to Yaz, who takes it, slipping her hand around Jo’s elbow, the satin soft and warmed by Jo’s body under her hand, and together they leave Jo’s flat for the party that awaits them, fashionably late or simply on time.

***

As they approach the harbour, still arm in arm, Yaz notices now that the party is not, as she had assumed, in Rory and Amy’s café, but is instead sprawling across the beach just outside of it. Tables and chairs are laid out for sitting at, and a row of small tables is laden with food and drink under a small cloth gazebo. Further out onto the beach a pseudo dancefloor has been created, and Yaz smirks to see Ryan stood behind a table supplied with laptop and speakers, acting as the DJ for the occasion, bobbing his head to the beat which thrums as an undertone to the chatter which is going on. The entire area is framed with strings of fairy lights supported by large poles shoved into the earth. It is cosy, and welcoming, and Yaz feels at ease.

She spots Amy and Rory in the centre of it all, speaking to the guests which throng them. Some Yaz spots as the younger villagers, Jack she can see is doing his best to impress everyone with some dance moves, but others must be friends from another life who have travelled down for the occasion. An older man is talking to the couple, a man who bears a likeness to Rory.

“His father.” Jo explains, having noticed where Yaz was looking. “I might try and avoid him, he’ll only want to offer me his sympathies.”

Yaz turns, troubled by something in the other woman’s tone, and sees Jo biting the inside of her cheek, eyes trailing over the guests with a mounting anxiety. “There’s more people from Sheffield than I thought there would be. Well, I _didn’t_ think about it. Oh, I _really_ don’t want to speak to them.”

“Hey,” Yaz says, turning Jo to face her and lightly grips her upper arms in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture. The other woman tenses for a moment but relaxes when she looks into Yaz’s eyes. “If you need me to get you away from someone or cause a distraction just say, yeah? Maybe… let’s have a code word.”

“Pears.” Jo says.

“Pears?” Yaz frowns.

“I hate them.” Jo says with a small smile, and Yaz smiles back, assured that the other woman is feeling better.

“Alright. Pears it is.”

Jo nods, letting out a shaky breath and straightening her shoulders back. “Right. Let’s do this.” The two turn and head downwards onto the beach from the harbour, but Jo stops Yaz before they go much further. “Yaz? You look really nice, by the way.” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t say it before, but you do.”

Yaz smiles and does not fight the temptation to reach forward and free that strand of hair from behind Jo’s ear, letting it fall to the side of her face once more. Jo takes in a shaky breath, watching Yaz’s hand intently. “Thank you.” Yaz says.

Jack spots them as soon as they become enveloped into the hazy light and buzzing noise of the party, calling out as he keeps dancing, making a wave at the both of them a part of his moves. Jo and Yaz both roll their eyes, and Jo gestures to Amy, Jack nodding as he understands her meaning.

Luckily for Jo, Rory and his dad are speaking with two others a few feet away, and they are able to reach Amy without any other interference from another person. Amy greets them with a laugh of delight, pulling both of them into a hug, her ginger hair brushing along Yaz’s cheek.

“Good to see you both here. Together. Having come here…together!” She says cheekily, and she winks in Yaz’s direction, who shots a quick look to Jo to see if she had seen. The other woman is busy fetching Amy’s present out from under her arm, however. She holds it out for Amy to take.

“Oh, Jo, you shouldn’t have!” She says in a joking tone, giving the present a feel with her hands. “Oh! I think I know what it is!” Her face falls comically. “Oh no, it’s not some overtly complicated and boring book on space travel, is it? Something you find interesting that you think I’ll like. You know I prefer the adventure stories about space!”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Jo says impatiently. “Just open it.” She turns to Yaz as Amy slips her finger under the wrapping and begins to rip it open, looking offended as she mutters. “Boring?”

Yaz giggles and turns her attention to Amy as the other woman runs her hands over the soft covering of the book. Her face turns to an expression of utmost delight as she opens the book and sees the title of her book staring back at her, as well as Yaz and Jo’s message. “Oh my god I love it!”

“You never got a proper hardback copy, so I thought…” Jo trails off as Amy pulls her into a bone crushing hug.

“It’s brilliant! Where did you get it done?” Amy asks, releasing her friend and running her hands possessively over the book.

“Yaz and I made it.” Jo explains, and Amy’s eyebrows raise, a smirk on her face, looking between the two of them.

“Oh. So not only did you come together, but you’ve given me a gift together.” Amy says, looking expectantly between the two of them. Jo ducks her head and turns bright red, and to spare her blushes Yaz says, “Well, Jo made it, I just kept her company.”

“I see.” Amy says, giving Yaz a long look, rolling her eyes over to Jo, who has become extremely interested in the sand beneath their feet, as if to say to Yaz, ‘what did I tell you?’

“Well,” Amy says, deciding to give mercy to Jo and lead the conversation in another direction. “Thank you very much. I love it. Now get some drink and food in you and have fun! It’s a party! My party, so you’d best do as I say!”

She literally pushes both women in the direction of the food and drink, and Yaz follows Jo over to the table. The other women’s eyes alight on a plate of biscuits, and she begins scooping up the custard creams in her fingers, stuffing one in her mouth immediately.

“Well that went well.” Yaz says. Jo seems distracted, cramming another biscuit into her mouth. Yaz has a feeling she knows what Jo is thinking _of,_ but what exactly she thinks _about_ it she does not know. It sends an electric lightning bolt of worry through her veins, and she takes her own biscuit, biting off the end.

“Do you want to dance?” Jo suddenly asks her through a mouthful of biscuit.

“Err… yeah.” Yaz says lamely, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Jo what are you…?” She asks as she watches Jo stuff the biscuits she has collected into the pockets of her culottes.

“For later. Don’t want anyone else taking them.” The woman says, seeming more like her usual self. She takes Yaz’s hand and leads her over to the dance area, although she stops just beyond it, hands fidgeting at her side.

“Jo? You alright?” Yaz asks.

Jo shoots her a small smile. “Yeah. Just… been a long time since I last danced, is all.”

“That’s okay, I haven’t in a while either.” Yaz assures her. The other woman’s nerves are almost tangible, and they add to Yaz’s own sense of anticipation, so she tries to counter them by assuring Jo. “Plus, my ribs aren’t going to be any help.”

“Oh! Your ribs! Yaz I forgot. Sorry.” Jo says, nose scrunching up. She runs a hand through her hair.

“It’s okay. Come on.” Yaz says, holding out her hand for Jo. She finds her calm, assured self take over, a natural ability to be the strong one in situations where people need help which works well for her at work. Well, _worked_ well. It calms her as much as it calms Jo, and she finds it helps her cope with her own nerves as she leads the other woman over to the dancing area, Ryan giving them a small wave from his place behind the DJ table.

Jack spots them almost immediately and shimmies over, smiling widely. “Hey ladies.” He says, still dancing as he comes to a stop in front of them. “How are the ribs, Yaz?”

“Not too bad, thanks.” She replies with a smile. “Smarting a bit.”

“Was a nasty accident. Good thing Jo was there, eh?” Jack says, looking to the other woman, who is looking around, on edge. He shoots Yaz a questioning look, and she tries to communicate that Jo is feeling a little nervous. Jack must understand, as he shoots her an understanding nods, and Yaz finds herself tensing at the glint in his eyes. Oh no, what does he have planned?

“Yaz, do you mind if I…?” Jack says, gesturing to Jo, and Yaz understands his plan, then, and she gestures Jo.

“Please.” She says. She hopes Jo does not mind this, but she has found it works wonders on people who are nervous at a party. Besides, it is Jack, and the man would never mean harm to Jo.

“Jo?” Jack asks, and the other woman hums absentmindedly, eyes still focussing on a group of people a few feet away. As a result, she is surprised when the man grabs her hand and pulls her to him, putting her hand to his shoulder and his own to her waist, whilst their remaining hands are clasped together. Jack begins to lead her in an upbeat dance which is barely in time to the music Ryan is blasting from the speakers, but that does not matter, what matters is that Jo, getting over her initial surprise, begins to relax into the movement, a small smile on her face as she tries to concentrate on not stepping on Jack’s toes. Yaz watches on, relieved that it seems Jo is more comfortable now.

“I’m amazed, you know.” A voice suddenly says behind her, and Yaz turns just as Amy comes to a stop at her side, holding a drink in one hand, the other crossed over her body. “This is the most committed to something I’ve seen Jo since River.”

“What? Dancing?” Yaz asks.

“No!” Amy drawls, looking at Yaz with a disbelieving expression. “ _You!_ Yaz, I’ve not seen her so interested in something and someone since River died. Not even the bookshop and the history. That is all just something for Jo to occupy her mind with, but you…” Amy shakes her head, looking towards Jo. Yaz follows her gaze; Jack and Jo are still caught up in their strange waltz, Jo’s head tipped back as she laughs at something Jack has said. She looks beautiful, and Yaz can feel a smile spread to her lips, knowing Amy’s gaze is on her.

“What is _it_ you think she’s interested in?” Yaz asks honestly.

“You mean with you?” Amy asks, and at Yaz’s nod she tilts her head to the side, evaluating Yaz, who holds steady and tries to appear as calm and open as possible. “I don’t think I could say. I don’t think Jo could say. I just know that you like her, and she most certainly likes you. Do _you_ know what you want with her?”

Yaz considers this and realises that she actually does not know. The goal for so long has been getting to the point where she could hope that Jo might feel for Yaz a fraction of what she feels for Jo, and now, it seems, she has that, Yaz does not really know what to do, caught between the desire for more and the fear of what might happen should she pursue that; it is the same conundrum she faced in the bookshop yesterday. She realises that it will not go away, and the pressure of it builds, as does the expectation from Amy for an answer.

“I don’t know. I just want to be _with_ her. In whatever way that is.” Yaz answers honestly.

“Well, there you go.” Amy says. “I think Jo would say much the same. You make her happy, Yaz.”

Yaz lets out a shaky breath, Amy’s words heavy upon her chest. “What if I do something to ruin that? What if-”

“Yaz, I think you’re overthinking things.” Amy says kindly, chestnut eyes meeting Yaz’s. “You think she’d blame you even if you did upset her?”

“Well-” Yaz begins, not knowing what to say but feeling as if she needs to express her insecurity nonetheless, but Amy stops her spiral.

“Who tells someone their biggest secret if they don’t trust them?” Amy asks rhetorically. “Who spends two days looking after someone they’d only met a few weeks ago unless they have strong feelings of any kind for them?” At Yaz’s confused expression, she goes on to explain. “She didn’t have to stay with you overnight. Martha told her it was unnecessary, I did, hell, I think even Graham had a go, but she insisted. Now, Jo’s head has always been as complex as the mysteries of the universe, but I think I know her pretty well, and so you’d better believe me when I say she would not blame _you_ for hurting her if you acted on your feelings. Stop worrying, Yaz!” She pokes Yaz in the finger with a manicured finger good naturedly, a smile dancing around her lips, mirroring Jack and Jo’s movement on the dancefloor. “Here you are talking to me worrying about how you treat her instead of having pursued a crush I’m fairly sure you’ve had since you’ve been here. I bet you’ve spent the last few days together caught between delight and dread. Am I wrong?”

Yaz lets out a small laugh, relieved, in a way, to admit it to someone. “No. No, you’re right.”

Amy grabs her arms, almost squealing with delight. “Ahh, my god this is like something out of a book! Yaz, I could kiss you!”

Yaz laughs. “You’ve already threatened that before!”

“Well, that’s how much I approve of you.” Amy says with a wink. Letting Yaz go, both women turn to watch Jack and Jo once more. Jo is spinning Jack under her arm. “Just trust in yourself, Yaz. Trust in the both of you.”

Amy leaves her with a squeeze of her upper arm, and Yaz sends her a grateful smile, feeling much calmer after their talk. The music ends, and Jack and Jo break apart, Jo clapping Jack with a smile on her face. Jack gestures Yaz over with a wave of his hand, and she strolls over, receiving Jo’s wide smile with one of her own.

“You are a massive flirt, Captain.” Jo says good naturedly.

Jack shrugs. “What can I say? The lady looked like she needed a dance.” Jo rolls her eyes and Jack winks, glancing between them. “In fact, I think the lady could-”

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Ryan says, strolling over with his hands in his pockets, interrupting what Jack had been about to say. It seems someone else has taken over DJ duty for a moment; Yaz raises her eyebrows when she sees Graham stabbing at the laptop’s keyboard. Ryan looks between them all, eyes widening at the pointed look Jack is giving him. Yaz watches with amusement and a sense of frustration. Jo seems to be none the wiser, stuffing a biscuit in her mouth. “Oh. Sorry. Should I-”

“We were gonna have a dance.” Jack said. “Ryan, would you accompany-”

“Pears.” Jo suddenly says, and Jack shoots a smile in her direction.

“Exactly what I was thinking. Ryan, you want to-”

“No, _pears!_ ” Jo says, taking Yaz’s hand and pulling the other woman to her just as a slow song begins playing. Yaz’s jumps a little at the sudden feel of Jo’s hand on her back and shoulder, but she allows herself to relax into the dance, placing her own hands on Jo’s shoulders, giving the woman a questioning look. “This woman I used to live near was approaching. There is _no way_ I’m talking to her.” Jo explains as they slowly rotate in a circle. Yaz catches Ryan’s, who is in Jack’s arms, eye, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

The song is an old one, from the sixties, Yaz would guess; it certainly matches Graham’s tastes. Around them couples have started forming, Amy with her head on Rory’s shoulder, Grace with a pleased looking Graham. All seem to be caught up in the rhythm of the music, it takes over the control of their bodies, guides them into moments of softness, of connectivity. Jo’s hand feels warm on the small of her back, and Yaz wraps her arms around the other woman’s neck, bringing them closer. She locks eyes with Jo and holds that gaze there for the entire song, and it is as if this dance symbolises how close they have been all week, dancing to the same tune and yet each one unsure of how the song ends.

When the song does end, and Graham’s crooning tune is replaced by a noughties pop classic, Yaz feels as if she has been brought back to earth. She could have sworn they had been dancing amongst the stars.

“Do you want to get a drink?” Jo asks her. 

* * *

“No!” Yaz insists past a giggle of laughter. “I never did that!”

“I bet you did!” Jo cries, pointing at her.

“It’s against practice!” Yaz tries to explain, even though there is no point. “You can’t just put the sirens on for a laugh!”

Jo groans, tipping her head back and exposing the pale skin of her neck, which catches the glaring light of the moon. It is much later, the sun having long retreated below the horizon, Jo and Yaz watching its every move as has become ritual, and Yaz feels buzzed, a strange feeling caught between hazy exhaustion and an electric thrill which sits just underneath her skin and makes her feel wide awake. And she has not even had any alcohol, although she had to give in and take a painkiller an hour ago, and she supposes that is what is making everything seem slightly dreamlike.

Jo is tipsy, Yaz can tell from the woman’s exaggerated uncoordinated movements, but she has assured Yaz it is only the pleasant buzz this time, not the buzz which she described like a thousand bees attacking her brain and turning her thoughts to River.

They are sat on the edge of the quay, legs swinging, a little way away from the party so as to have a moment of privacy. Yaz feels as if she has been under the gaze of their friends for the entire evening, all watching them with a sense of anticipation. It is nice to get a moment with Jo just the two of them; she realises how much she has come to value that time.

“I once forgot to put a bra on before work and had to present a lecture to two hundred students in my coat. The worst thing was it was summer, and it was boiling.” Jo says with a giggle and Yaz laughs, shaking her head.

“That sounds like something you would do.” Yaz replies.

Jo concedes with a small nod. “Forgetful, me, ‘bout those kinds of things. Always managing to make a fool of myself.”

“I don’t think you make a fool of yourself. I like that about you.” Yaz admits, her tongue almost running away without her.

“That’s good, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I’ve done it the most in front of you.” Jo admits with a light tap at Yaz’s knee. She takes a sip from the cup in her hand before placing it on the stone under which they sit.

“Nah.” Yaz says. “Besides, I’ve made a fool of myself.”

“I’ve told you don’t be embarrassed ‘bout the surfing thing-”

“Not that.” Yaz interrupts her. She can barely believe she is admitting to this. She feels weirdly disconnected from her body. “Another time.”

“What?” Jo smiles and pokes Yaz in the arm. “What? Tell me!”

“Fine, fine!” Yaz says with a giggle, putting her hands up in surrender. She sweeps her hair behind one shoulder, eyes lazily tracing the trail of the constellations above them. “The first week I were here. The day of your tour. When I came back to collect those books off you… did I seem to be acting odd to you?”

“Odd?” Jo asks, head moving backwards as she thinks, face scrunched up. She blows out a long breath through her cheeks. “Bit hard for _me_ to measure this one, Yaz. What does odd mean?”

Yaz sighs, “What I’m trying to say is that day I were… I was trying to flirt with you.”

Jo’s eyes go wide. “Flirt with me?”

Yaz feels every muscle in her body tense as she waits for Jo’s reaction, one part of her brain telling her it is all fine and the other telling her that she has admitted too much. She shakes her head, trying to end that battle.

“Yaz, no offence but that was some really bad flirting.” Jo says with a giggle, and then she is doubling over with breathless laughs.

“What? What’s so funny?” Yaz insists of Jo, shoving the other woman’s arm lightly. Jo waves at her as if to appease her, fighting to speak past the giggles which keep rising in her throat. Yaz waits on tenterhooks, her body feeling as if it is plugged into an electrical socket, thrumming with energy. Strange, how even in a hazy state she stills feels electric around Jo.

“Nothing, nothing, honestly.” Jo assures her. “Not the flirting thing, it’s not that I promise! I promise…”

Yaz realises she is leaning over Jo, the other woman’s elbows pressed against the ground as she holds herself up, preventing herself from being laid out on the jetty. They are so close that Yaz can feel Jo’s breaths on her cheek, can pinpoint small inflections within her pupils, glinting as they are in the moonlight. Jo seems to be made of shadows and starlight, blonde hair acquiring a silvery tone. Jo has always seemed like the sun to Yaz, but now, here, she looks like the goddess of the night, ethereal and beautiful. Something other, unknown, a mythic being not quite of this world.

Yaz longs to kiss her, in that moment, all thoughts of indecision and uncertainty forgotten in the face of the moonlight.

And it really does feel myth-like when Yaz realises that Jo’s lips have brushed her own, that she has kissed the other woman without being conscious of the movement of her lips. She has wanted this for long, _so_ long. The kiss deepens and they dive below the depths of their affection for each other, and Jo’s lips are soft and warm against hers, and Yaz does not fight as she is pulled below the surface, gasping as the breath is stolen from her lungs.

The kiss is admittedly, slightly clumsy, both women being on the wrong side of fully coherent, and that is what clocks it for Yaz, that is what clears her head and brings her back to her senses, that realisation. She reluctantly resurfaces, gasping for breath, pushing herself away from Jo. She shakes her head as a cold hand of horror holds a tight grip around her throat. This was _wrong,_ this should not have happened, not this way, when they are both under the influence of something or another, and oh no, she should not have kissed Jo like this, without the woman’s permission. _Taking advantage._ Yaz feels bile rise in her throat at the thought as she clambers upright, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She has ruined it, ruined everything, and her breath catches in the back of her throat. She forgets Amy’s reassuring words of a few hours earlier; there is _no way_ Jo could forgive this, Yaz is sure of it.

She does not look at the other woman, not properly, only gets a small view of her still near-lying down on the jetty as she risks a small glance her way.

“Sorry.” Yaz mutters. “I shouldn’t ‘a done that…. M’sorry. Sorry.”

She turns and makes her quick away along the jetty and back to the harbour, wanting to avoid any and all people who might try to stop her. She can hear Jo calling out her name, but she ignores it- _coward._ She does not want to face the repercussions, not now, not when she feels as if her heart is being squashed to a pulp by the cold hands of regret and defeat.

Not when it feels as if she has broken both Jo’s trust in her and her own self-worth as the same time. Like delicate bone china, they have snapped under Yaz’s clumsy fingers, and right now, head still foggy, she does now know how she will ever repair them. She has crossed the line too fast, she has not won the race she has cheated it, she has played unfair with Jo.

She does not fight the sobs which wrack her body as she makes her slow way up the hill and towards her lonely cottage.


	14. (Mis)communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am nervous about this one lol, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW: Brief reference to domestic abuse (as in chp 7), discussions of death (I will put a more detailed TW in end notes for people who are worried, just didn't want to spoil the plot right here!)

Yaz ignores all calls and texts for the next two days, hiding under her sheets for the better half of the first day and curling up on the sofa the next. She is humiliated, angry at herself and at the universe, and, above all, sick to her stomach with guilt.

She had taken advantage of Jo whilst the woman was drunk and used that for her own ends because she had not been strong enough to resist her own temptations. Jo has trusted her with so much and she has betrayed that trust in one heavy-handed blow. Yaz feels disgusted in herself, and the hour-long shower she had taken when she had returned home Friday night had not done anything to eradicate the sheen of shame that seems to cling to her like a second skin.

In moments of weakness, when seeking some sympathy for herself, Yaz has queried whether she could be wholly to blame for the kiss. She herself had been influenced by the power painkillers which fogged her mind to the extent where she does not remember even initiating the kiss, so it is not like she acted fully coherent herself. Also, she wonders, Jo might have enjoyed it; the other woman had not broken it off immediately, and in fact it had been deepening before Yaz had pulled away. Maybe she was relieved Yaz had finally crossed the line? But no, no, she could not be, Yaz always came to conclude, not when Yaz had crossed it in such a crude and advantageous manner.

Saturday evening there is a knock at the front door, and Yaz cautiously peels it open to see Ryan stood there, hands in his pockets, looking concerned.

“Yaz.” He says. “Mate, what’s happened? You haven’t answered anyone’s texts and ya rushed off last night so quickly.”

Yaz shakes her head. “You don’t want to know, Ryan.”

“Please.” He says, stepping forward closer to the door. “Will ya let me in?” When Yaz still hesitates he adds, “Come on mate, I just wanna help ya.”

Eventually, Yaz relents, and with a sigh she opens the door wide and lets Ryan in, following him through into the longue. They plonk down on the sofa, both at different ends, and Ryan lays his hands on his thighs as he turns to Yaz. “Right, mate. Tell me what’s up.”

“Oh, Ryan.” Yaz says, voice breaking, the walls of the dam stopping her emotions from spewing forth weakened and compromised. She hates herself for it, but she needs the comfort of a friend right now. “I’ve ruined everythin’.”

Ryan pulls her into a hug as he sees her begin to break, shuffling over on the sofa, and Yaz cries quietly into his side for a few minutes, his body firm and reassuring against hers. “What have you ruined?” He asks. “Is it Jo? ‘Cause I got to tell ya Yaz, the woman is beside herself with worry.”

“What?” Yaz says, peering up at him through bleary, tear filled eyes.

“She thinks she’s done something to upset ya.” He explains. “Been in Amy’s all day, proper stressed out like, won’t eat or anythin’.”

“It’s nothing she’s done.” Yaz says. “It were me. I… I kissed her, Ryan. When she were drunk. I kissed her and took advantage of her because I couldn’t stop myself.”

Ryan is silent for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth and slight frown marring his brow as he thinks hard about something. “Yaz, mate, I can’t be sure but from the way Jo is acting I don’t think she blames you for anythin’.” He finally says, looking down at her. “Why are you so sure it was you who messed up? Actually, why are you so sure it was a mistake in the first place?”

“Because it was wrong! It was all wrong! I wanted my first kiss with her to be…” Yaz breaks off, breath caught in her throat. She cannot explain to Ryan how she wanted her first kiss with Jo to be, not without a modicum of embarrassment, and she is sure Ryan would prefer not to know all the details. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t want it to be when she was drunk, and I was on strong painkillers.”

Ryan snorts, and tightens his grip on Yaz’s arm. “I think you should talk to her, when you’re ready. Get Jo’s side of things, because look, the woman is still a complete mystery to me, despite me now knowing about her dead wife an’ all, but anyone can see she’s in pieces because of this.”

Yaz breathes in a shaky breath, comforted somewhat by Ryan’s words. It is a relief to know Jo has not been saying anything against Yaz, and it gives her a tendril of hope that all is not as bad as it seems, but in this moment she is still caught in a web of self-destruction, and all she really fancies is a good cry. “Can we just stay here for now, though?”

Ryan laughs and leans back against the sofa, Yaz coming with him so that she is tucked against his side. “’Course. I haven’t got any plans. You got Netflix on this thing?” He picks up the remote which rests on the sofa arm and flicks on the TV, toeing off his shoes. Yaz sighs, directing him to the streaming service, and simply revels in the comfort of her oldest friend.

When she plucks up the courage, she will talk to Jo, but right now she needs to dig herself out of a hole of self-hate. 

* * *

She chickens out the next day, still feeling delicate, as if she is made out of fine china. It is unlike her to be so cowardly, but it is testament to how much Jo means to her that she is putting off talking to her. This then brings on the worry that Jo might think Yaz is not interested in her anymore, in any way, as she has not yet spoken to her, and soon enough Yaz finds herself pacing the living room in circles as she thinks what is best to do. By the time Sunday evening rolls around, she is sure she has walked miles just in her front room, and she is so caught up in avoiding her thoughts and then accidentally acknowledging them by thinking she needs to ignore them, that she jumps when there is a knock at the door.

It is a firm knock, loud against the oak wood, and yet it is quick, which speaks of nervousness, trepidation. Yaz thinks she knows who it is. Jo.

She hesitates for only a moment before opening the door. _The time of reckoning has come, Yaz._

“Yaz.” Jo says once Yaz has peeled the front door open. Her face is pale, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hands twiddle nervously at her sides. “….Hi.”

“Hi.” Yaz says, clearing her throat. She has not spoken all day and her voice comes out raspy. “Do you wanna….?” She opens the door wider, and Jo nods, stepping into Yaz’s home almost cautiously, keeping controlled movement of her limbs, trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Can I get you anything?” Yaz asks, stepping through into the kitchen, Jo following on behind her. “Tea? Coffee? No, you don’t drink coffee, do you-”

“Yaz.” Jo interrupts Yaz’s rambling, and the other woman turns to look at her, hand poised in opening a kitchen cupboard. “I’m sorry.”

Yaz blinks.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Jo swallows, stepping forward, hands gesticulating at herself. “What I did was wrong. I were a bit drunk, you see, and- that’s not an excuse, by the way, but it’s probably why-”

“Wait, hang on.” Yaz holds up a hand, rounding to face Jo properly. “What do you mean _you’re_ sorry?”

Jo’s head tilts to the side. “Well, for the kiss.”

“No, wait, hang on.” Yaz says. “That was my fault. I-I took advantage of you, Jo! You were drunk, and I still thought it would be okay to-”

“Yaz, you didn’t kiss me, _I_ kissed _you._ ” Jo says firmly, pointing at her own chest. She gives Yaz a small smile. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been here on your own for two days beating yourself up thinking it were your fault.”

Yaz’s straightens, trying not to look too guilty. “…No.”

“Yaz.” Jo says, stepping closer to her. And Yaz, damn herself, lets her, allows herself to peer into those hazel eyes she had admired with such intensity on Friday night. “I’ve been calling and texting. I thought… I thought you were angry with me.”

“I thought _you_ were angry with _me._ ” Yaz says, and although the words are ridden with pain and carry so much emotion, she cannot help the small laugh at how ridiculous they both sound. Jo giggles too, eyes soft as she looks at Yaz.

“Listen to us, we sound like teenagers.” She jokes, and Yaz laughs, the sound crystal clear, the brightest she has felt in days.

Jo smiles sadly at her, lips pursed together. “I’m so sorry Yaz. It was a mistake. I should have thought. I should have asked.”

“It’s fine.” Yaz assures her, although nothing about this is fine. Jo is blaming herself; she is calling the kiss a mistake... Yaz is confused. What does she mean by mistake? And… what reduces Yaz’s head to a whirlpool the most of all, Jo is saying that _she kissed Yaz?_ “I thought it were me, I thought I were the one to… I suppose we were a bit out of it.”

“Yeah, just a tad.” Jo says with a sigh, chewing the inside of her cheek. She glances up at Yaz, something undistinguishable in her eyes as they trail over Yaz’s face. She takes in a sharp breath, and then finally she speaks. “Look, Yaz, shall we just forget it? Start again? I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

Yaz sucks in a breath. She can barely see for the thoughts running rings around her brain which blur her vision. Has she been beating herself up for two days for no reason? What does Jo mean by the kiss being a mistake? Is it meant in the same way that Yaz sees it? What could have been the first expression of mutual affection turned into something messy and filtered through alcoholic and medicinal means. And, furthermore, Jo is blaming herself for the kiss, meaning she had been the one to initiate it… had she tried and disliked it? Is that what she is saying; that, now having had that experience, she realises Yaz is not for her? Yaz’s stomach churns, her palms are sweaty, and she reminds herself that it is good Jo wants them to remain friends, wants to sweep this under the rug to keep what they already had… but is any chance of something more with her now gone?

Yaz is too caught up in the relief that Jo is here, willing still to be with her, that she cannot bring herself to confront those bigger questions, desperate for some solid assurance to cling on to. Maybe it is a coward’s move, maybe she has spent this whole weekend being a coward, but right now she does not care, because Jo is here making amends, and if Yaz wants to crawl out of this self-pity hole to the point where she might finally be able to confront those questions, then she needs this to help her out.

“Do you still want me to come to Falmouth with you?” Yaz asks, the first words she can think to say, the first thought she manages to strain from the stew of her mind.

“If you still want to, I’d be delighted.” Jo replies. “Does that mean you’re alright with this?”

“Yeah.” Yaz replies. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Jo.” She admits honestly, letting out a long breath as she does so.

Jo pulls her into a hug, and it is a movement so unexpected Yaz stiffens with surprise. Whilst she and Jo have been passing light touches here and there, Jo does not seem one for physical affection in a casual manner such as this. “I thought I’d ruined it all.” Jo explains, tone open and vulnerable. It makes Yaz tighten her own hold on the other woman, suddenly feeling guilty that she had left her in the dark for two days. Miscommunication is a nightmare, and Yaz is relieved that they both seem to have woken up from it, even if she herself is still feeling groggy around the edges.

What matters though is that she is awake, and in Jo’s arms, and she clings to the reality of the other woman’s body like a limpet to a rock.

“You haven’t ruined anything.” Yaz assures her, speaking into the other woman’s hair. “I’m still here for you.” 

* * *

“Come on, ladies!” Grace calls to Jo and Yaz, waving at them to follow her past her and Graham’s home and up a narrow alley nearby. Yaz readjusts her rucksack on her shoulder and follows the older woman, Jo at her side.

“You alright?” She asks the other woman. Jo has been quiet all morning, seemingly lost in thought, but she brightens and summons a smile at Yaz’s question.

“Yeah, m’fine, Yaz!”

Awkwardness has stalked both their heels in the last few days, an inevitable shockwave following their ‘blip’, as Yaz has come to call the kiss. Touches are hesitant, Yaz finds herself overtly conscious of the movement of her limbs, whereas Jo seems to at time lose complete control of hers and more than once she trips and falls over a pile of books stacked in preparation for their trip to Falmouth. However, Yaz is reassured by the fact that both of them are reluctant to let that come between them, spending as much time together as they had the previous week, Jo inviting her to the bookshop after departing Yaz’s cottage on Sunday with a slight shyness Yaz had found endearing. The upcoming festival has offered a welcome preoccupation for them, and they have reverted to their normal tempo, even if there is a beat which is slightly out of time. Yaz still finds those questions which had plagued her after their apologies running through her head at night, but during the day… well, she has always been captured by Jo, and it is better, she thinks, for her to simply revel in the woman’s presence than disturb the peace. It seems they both need the further reassurance from the other that they have not irreparably broken things between them.

They step out of the small alley and onto a flat concentred area which stretches out to a main road just beyond. Yaz turns to see Grace pulling open a large garage door with chipping white paint, revealing both Graham’s minibus and a small, burgundy coloured car. So, this is where he keeps it, then.

“Handy, isn’t it?” Grace says, noticing Yaz’s gaze. She fumbles for her keys, unlocking the driver’s door and sliding in. “Stand back!”

Jo and Yaz step to the side as Grace drives the car out of the garage. Yaz casts Jo a side-eye look, noticing the woman eyeing the car with a strange expression almost like trepidation. When she notices Yaz’s gaze on her, however, Jo just smiles. 

They help Grace load the supplies they need for the festival into the boot of the car, consisting of a couple of crates of books for sale as well as other necessary advertisements and some small souvenir gifts. Well, Yaz does the best she can with her bruised ribs, which really means she holds doors open whilst Jo does most of the lifting. Their own bags of personal items are then loaded in and they are ready to go, Grace slamming the boot door shut with a slam. Jo jumps at the sound but covers it by pretending to stretch out her back. Yaz notices, however, and shoots the other woman a concerned look. What is it that is bothering her so much? Yaz does not want to push, but she hopes Jo knows that Yaz is there if she wants to tell her, she hopes that much has not changed since the ‘blip’.

“I’m just gonna say goodbye to Graham, you two get comfy for the drive.” Grace says to them with a kind smile, and she squeezes Jo’s arm quickly before she pads off down the small alley.

“You can sit in the front with Grace, Yaz.” Jo says, opening one of the back-seat doors.

“You sure?” Yaz asks. She supposes it would be unfair on Grace for both women to sit in the back together, seeing as the older woman is driving them then the least one of them could do is give her some company in the front.

Jo nods. “Positive.” She slides in without another word, closing her door behind her. Feeling slightly unsure of herself, and of Jo, Yaz follows her lead and opens the front passenger door, sliding into the seat cautiously so as not to knock her ribs. They sit in silence for a moment once Yaz has closed her door behind her, and Yaz bites her lip, sensing a strange energy in the car.

“How long will the drive take?” She asks to make conversation, even though she had looked it up on her phone the night before.

“’Bout hour and half.” Jo replies, fingers taping against the door in a frantic pattern. She is in the seat behind the driver’s, so Yaz can see her when she turns, and she catches the movement out of the corner of her eye. Yaz supposes long car journeys must be a bore for someone like Jo, who tends to move and fidget almost constantly.

“It’ll whiz by.” Yaz assures her, trying to lift the woman’s somewhat dimmed spirit. It is strange; Jo has seemed fine all week, since their ‘blip’… perhaps it is the nerves about her talks properly kicking in. “You feeling okay about the talk?”

Finally, Jo turns to her, noticing Yaz’s gaze on her. Something seems to give in her and she gives Yaz a small smile, sheepish and apologetic. “I’m fine, Yaz. Seriously.”

Yaz bites the inside of her cheek, but she does not push the problem further; obviously Jo does not want her to, and she respects that. She nods, ignoring the flare of nerves in her stomach that this has anything to do with the ‘blip’ and instead shifting and turning back to face the front of the car, grimacing as the movement jars her ribs. She glimpses Jo in the rear-view mirror: the other woman has resumed her fretful tapping. Yaz sighs.

“Look what I’ve got!” Grace says as she enters the car, closing the driver’s seat door behind her. She turns in her seat to both women, holding up two packets of sweets. “I’ve made sure they’re halal, love.” She says to Yaz.

“You’re too good to us, Grace.” Yaz says with a laugh as the older woman places the sweets in the middle of the two front seats so that they all can reach them. Jo leans forward, fingers stopping their tapping as they poke at the paper bags until they open.

“Did you get…”

“Ginger bon bons.” Grace finishes for her, smiling at the other woman in the rear-view mirror. “I know they’re your favourite, love.” 

Jo dives into the bag without any further prompting and shoves a ginger bon bon in her mouth with a strange sense of urgency. She lets out a breath, leaning back in her seat. “Thanks Grace. Love sugar, me.”

“Yeah I’d got that impression.” Yaz tries at a joke, and she sees Jo smile slightly in the rear-view mirror and she leans back in her seat, pleased. She is most likely reading meaning into actions and expressions where there is no meaning, caught up as they both are in trying to find their feet in their friendship once more. It is the kind of overthinking that has never done Yaz any good following a hard shift and an uneasy prosecution, and she tells herself to not wind herself up in circles and instead focus on the journey ahead.

Grace turns on the engine and puts the car into drive, and Yaz pops a prawn shrimp into her mouth as they turn onto the main road, settling back into her seat for the ride. 

* * *

“…And then of course there’s those who say that’s ridiculous and that the table is a fake, and yes, it is a fake, but it’s a really old one! Dates back to the thirteenth century!” Jo says around the sweet in her mouth, already leaning forward for another. Yaz is not sure what is in ginger bon bons, but they seem to have brought her out of her quiet fog and to her more talkative state, even if she does seem a bit… manic.

Yaz shifts in her seat, eyes on the scenery in front of her, watching the road get eaten up beneath the wheels of the car, points of interest on the horizon getting closer and closer. Fields stretch out on either side of bushy hedgerows and ragged walls, and there is a rustic beauty to Cornwall which Yaz finds compelling, and she has not grown bored of the view in the forty-five minutes or so they have been on the road.

It had taken about ten minutes for Jo to start talking, and Yaz thinks she has not stopped. She is happy for the woman to do so, and so is Grace, whose eyes are unwavering on the way ahead of them, despite having lost the trail of the conversation about twenty minutes ago.

“…Henry VIII was said to have dined around it, showed it off to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, basically a ‘my kingdom is just as good as your kingdom, if not better’ kind of thing.”

Yaz wonders whether Jo is talking for their benefit or her own, the words leaving her mouth quickly in a slipstream. She shoves another sweet into her mouth as she continues talking, seemingly unaware of Yaz leaning over to Grace and murmuring, “Did you put something in those sweets?”

“No, love, ‘course not.” Grace says with a laugh, face breaking into a wide smile as she catches Yaz’s mischievous look. “Although, she does make me wonder…”

Yaz giggles and pulls her phone out when it buzzes in her pocket. She freezes when she reads the message displayed on her screen, hastily unlocking her phone to read it in full. Grace notices her sudden change in demeanour and glances her way, eyes darting between her and the road. “Yaz? You alright love?”

Yaz swallows back a sudden wave of self-doubt and horror as she reads the message displayed in front of her, shifting in her seat, ribs protesting. _Her stupid ribs…_

“Yaz?” Grace asks again, and the concern in her voice is enough to make Jo stop talking, and her head appears between the two front seats.

“It’s from a colleague.” Yaz tries to explain, mouth suddenly as dry as the desert. “He… This man I put away for domestic violence and abuse… he’s getting considered for bail next week.”

“Oh, love. I’m sorry.” Grace says, tutting and shaking her head. Jo watches Yaz carefully, and Yaz closes her eyes, not wanting to face the other woman’s gaze, although she is not sure why. Something like irritation bubbles under her skin.

“He went unnoticed for so long and now he might be getting out early…” She murmurs, running a hand over her face.

“Is he the one you told me about?” Jo asks, and Yaz nods, still not facing the other woman’s gaze. “Well it might be that he doesn’t get out, Yaz!” Jo says, leaning away from her and sitting upright in her seat, leg bouncing up and down in the corner of Yaz’s eye. “His appeal might fail!”

“That’s not the point.” Yaz says. “He should not be having this chance in the first place. If I had-”

“Don’t blame yourself, Yaz, this is not your fault.” Jo interrupts her, words loud and strangely abrasive, rubbing Yaz the wrong way. She frowns.

“I’m not blaming myself for his actions,” She says, hands curling and uncurling into fists. “It just seems unfair that this bastard might be getting off so lightly after doing so much hurt, and he did _more_ hurt than he potentially could have because I did not notice the signs-”

“But you said yourself there _were_ no signs, no obvious ones!” Jo replies, and Yaz feels uncomfortable, Jo’s words coming across impatient and scathing. Dismissive. “Seems fairly futile to put yourself through that emotional distress when there really was nothing you could do.”

“Jo, love, Yaz is justified to feel what she feels.” Grace chimes in, looking disapprovingly at the other woman in the rear-view mirror, eyebrows raised.

“I’m just saying you’re not to blame so you shouldn’t take it so hard, Yaz!” Jo defends herself, shrugging, shoving another sweet in her mouth. She adds bitterly, “Someone like _you_ should not waste their time taking the blame for the actions of someone like _him.”_

Yaz sighs, brain whirring, thoughts travelling through it as fast as they travel down the Cornish roads. It suddenly seems as if everything is mounting up into an unscalable mountain range, looming in front of her. Yaz feels closed in against the side of the car as she thinks about the stress of work and the impact on her self-confidence and happiness, the pain in her ribs that just won’t _heal,_ the guilt over this one case and Jo’s seemingly dismissive opinion on said guilt, which in turn dredges up her insecurities about where they stand in regards to each other and what exactly their relationship _is_ and it suddenly all becomes _too much._

Like a trigger being released suddenly Yaz feels something in her snap, and she huffs, forgoing any hesitancy over hurting her ribs and turns to face Jo. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but it does to _me._ Why can’t you respect that?”

Jo’s head darts back like a lizard’s, and she looked surprised, eyes wide. Those eyes lower to her lap and blink rapidly. Yaz can hear her moving the sweet around in her mouth, as if unsure what to do with it. Finally, she speaks, voice quieter. “You’re right. M’sorry, Yaz. I just thought you might want to-”

“Look, can we just talk about something else?” Yaz says on a sigh. She runs a hand through her hair, painfully shifting herself to face the front of the car. “Sorry, it’s just a sore spot.”

“S’alright, love.” Grace says, shooting her a kind smile.

Yaz sighs, already feeling regret creeps its way in, but she closes her eyes, and ignores how unsettled the sudden silence from Jo makes her feel. 

* * *

“Reservation under the name of O’Brien?” Grace says to the concierge of the Travelodge they have stopped at, Yaz and Jo stood next to her, Yaz rubbing the last entrails of sleep from her eyes. She had fallen into a light sleep following the bad news she had received, and as a result has not had a glimpse of Falmouth yet, only being woken from her impromptu nap by Grace lightly shaking her shoulder once they were parked in the car park of the Travelodge, and she is itching to stretch her legs after the car ride and her impromptu nap, hungry to explore somewhere new. And also itching to somehow figure out what the hell to do about her and Jo.

Yaz feels terrible. Jo had been trying to reassure her and all Yaz had done was shove that all back in her face. She does not know what came over her. She supposes the weight of everything had just pushed her that little bit too far. She might feel less guilty about allowing herself to be overwhelmed had she not taken it out on Jo in the process. The woman who she had promised to be there for, and Yaz has and when they are both so unsure of each other as well. She sighs. Maybe that is also why she reacted so badly. She has found herself analysing every interaction with Jo, trying to figure out where they stand, and it is incredibly tiresome. They should just talk. She _knows_ that. But… by Allah, she cannot face what might happen were Jo to confirm her worst worries. She does not want to lose her, not when she has all those horrid worries about work and her life overwhelming her as well, especially in light of the text she had received from Nigel, her co-worker, earlier.

She shoots the other woman a small smile as they wait by Grace to receive their room keys, and Jo returns it, which Yaz takes as a good sign. She will try and apologise later, and hopefully understand why Jo spoke in the way she did, so that they can clear the air. Again. Only this time, she is not going to be a coward about facing her feelings. She cannot afford to lose the connection between them that has already been tested, so it seems, in the last few days.

“I’ve got two rooms under O’Brien,” the concierge says, her wide eyes darting between the three of them. “Is that correct?”

“Ahh…” Grace says, turning slowly to the other two women with a wince. “I forgot to book you a room, Yaz, last minute as it was. Sorry, love.”

Yaz sends her a reassuring smile. “S’alright. I can always get my own.”

“I’m afraid we’re fully booked for the weekend, what with the festival.” The concierge says apologetically. Yaz clamps her mouth shut. Right.

“S’okay, Grace, we’ll share.” Jo says with a shrug. She turns to Yaz. “Is that alright with you?”

Yaz falters under Jo’s gaze for a moment, heart in her throat. One part of her is reassured by the offer, as it comes as reassurance that things between them are not too badly ruined, but the other part has her cheeks flushing red. Sharing a bedroom _with Jo._ What are the implications for this? _Are there any?_ What does Jo read into this arrangement, if anything past convenience? The doubt that has haunted Yaz since the ‘blip’ comes back in full force, and she shifts on her feet; maybe Jo really is not interested in her anymore if she is so willing to share a room.

“S’fine.” She finally manages to say, clearing her throat, and perhaps it is her imagination, but Jo looks relieved by her reply.

“Ah, well, if you’re sure, love?” Grace says, looking at both of them. Yaz summons a smile, stifling her trepidation, and nods. Grace turns back to the concierge, satisfied. “Well, that settles that then.”

Settled, yes, Yaz would like to say that it has been settled. But there really is something very nerve wracking about sharing a room with the woman you have fallen for, being confined in those close quarters… They have had the harbour between them, all this time, Yaz on her hill, Jo across from it so that Yaz could see, but not touch. Jo staying at Yaz’s was different, Yaz was injured and that injury had dictated an atmosphere that would not be present this weekend. No, this weekend would be entirely new territory, and just when they had stopped themselves from slipping on seaweed ridden ground and ruining it for the both of them.

Yaz cannot tell whether she is excited or terrified. 

* * *

Yaz certainly feels slightly terrified when, upon entering the room to deposit their bags before heading to the festival site to help Grace set up their stall for the weekend, she and Jo are met with a double bed, almost mocking in its neat presentation. Right then. _Buck up,_ Yaz, she tells herself, even though she feels worn out and charred inside.

Still, there is one thing she desperately needs to do if she wants to clear the air and not make this day unbearably filled with tension. As Jo moves past her to deposit her bag in the corner of the room, Yaz clears her throat.

“Jo?” The other woman looks to her at the sound of her name. Yaz smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry about the car.”

Jo frowns, head tilting to the side. “You don’t have to apologise, Yaz.”

“Yes, I do.” Yaz insists. “You were only trying to help, and I snapped at you and-”

“And you were distressed, and I didn’t handle the situation very well which led to you snapping at me which I can understand.” Jo finishes, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “I might not have understood in the moment, I were…” She looks around the room, focusing on nothing in particular as she thinks what to say. She takes in a long breath before speaking. “Sometimes I’m a little tactless, especially when…” She hesitates again, and Yaz frowns, sensing there is something Jo is not saying. “Well, emotions were high, weren’t they?” She eventually says with a small laugh. Yaz hesitates, but she does not push further, not knowing, with the seemingly unstable ground they stand on, how that might go down, and instead she nods.

“You can say that again.”

“Why would I need to say that again?” Jo asks, genuinely confused, obviously not picking up on the common saying. Yaz lets out a small laugh, feeling lighter.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay, I forgive you. Now, will you accept my apology?”

Instantly Jo protests. “You don’t have to give me one-”

“I can still be sorry for my actions, even if they were justified.” Yaz reasons. She needs Jo to accept her apology, to have that firm acknowledgement of _something_ being cleared between the both of them. She adds a small joke to diffuse the tension, “I’m normally _way_ calmer in tense situations.”

Jo tilts her head to the side, sympathy creasing her brow. “You were feelin’ personally responsible for something that wasn’t your fault as a result of your line of work. I don’t think being emotionally compromised is a bad thing.”

Yaz sighs. She does not really want to get into this. “I know, but it’s complicated by _what_ my line of work is. Look, just please accept my apology, Jo?”

Jo tilts her head to the side, hands coming to rest in front of her body in an attempt to stem her fidgeting. “Okay…” She says, still looking concerned. She swallows, stepping forwards, hands twitching but remaining clasped together. She comes within a foot of Yaz, who holds her ground and looks the other woman in the eye, becoming grounded in the depths of concern in her gaze. It warms her from the inside. “I were just worried ‘bout you, I didn’t like seeing you beat yourself up like that.”

Yaz smiles, relief washing over her in a wave. Jo is pushing this, and the concern is evident on her face. Tactless indeed. Jo’s face, Yaz has found, is so vulnerable to expressing her emotions, that she has no tact in hiding what she is feeling. However, words might not be spoken which explain those emotions, and Yaz can tell there is something Jo is not telling her, as she can see it lurking within hazel eyes. What she has explained, however, is her concern and sorrow over how Yaz is feeling, and Yaz warms to know that has not been ruined by the ‘blip.’ She lets out a long breath and nods, accepting Jo’s explanation. Words hover on her tongue, wanting to return the favour and enquire as to whether Jo is alright after her strange behaviour in the car, but the other woman speaks before she can.

“Are you really okay with this situation?” Jo asks her quietly, gesturing around the room whilst she keeps her eyes locked with Yaz’s. No escape.

Yaz nods, eyes not leaving Jo’s. Honesty. Deep down she cannot deny that terror she had felt is being dominated by excitement. Jo smiles, letting out a relieved breath.

There is a sudden knock on the door and both women jump, broken from their spell and breaking eye contact. Grace’s voice calls out, “Come on you two, we need to make a move to the site!” 

“Coming!” Jo calls back, and they hear Grace’s footsteps move away from the door. Jo looks back to Yaz, and she suddenly looks so tired, Yaz noting with concern the dark circles underneath her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but once again Jo chimes in, “Better get a shift on. Grace can be a strict boss when she needs to be. Think it comes from all those years dealing with patients.”

Yaz nods, letting the subject drop for now, realising she is not going to get an answer out of Jo now. The air between them is clearer, and it makes her feel calmer about all the plates she is spinning, but something nags at the back of her mind as to what lurks just behind Jo’s eyes. Later, once the tasks of the day are done, she will ask, and she hopes that she will find an honest answer, hopes that she will be trusted to receive one. 

* * *

Yaz can still taste salt on her tongue from the fish and chips, and it makes her thirsty as her and Jo pad back to their room, having bid Grace a goodnight and dropped her off at her own room a few doors down. The afternoon had been spent helping Grace and Jo set up their stall at the festival. It is to take place in a large field just outside of the town which overlooks the town and the sea which sweeps out from it in one elegant stroke of a brush. When they had arrived, a multitude of other gazebos and tents had been set up, with a large banner emblazoned with the name of the festival welcoming them into the constructed space. It had given Yaz the feel of a summer fete. Yaz was not much help to Grace and Jo as they lugged the boxes of books across the field from Grace’s car, but she had set to the task of organising them all on the tables provided to set them out on. By the time early evening had rolled around, she had sweat running down her back but had felt satisfied from a job well done.

“Right, you two. Fish and chips, my treat.” Grace had said with a beaming smile, nodding approvingly at their stall.

The meal had been delicious, and it had afforded Yaz a chance to take a peek at Falmouth as they had found a shop upon the harbourside and enjoyed their meal watching the last few boats return to the safe enclave of the harbour. The town is far larger than Kennock Cove, and the harbour had been rather crowded with tourists still despite the evening drawing in. Still, it retained a quaint Cornish feel to it which was carried in the air filled with sea brine and salt and embodied in the colourfully painted houses and shops which lined the streets.

Jo unlocks the door with her key and Yaz follows her into the room, feeling the slight tendrils of nerves in her stomach as there is no more delaying their long night together in the same room. She hovers slightly awkwardly by it as Jo heads to her bag, dumped in the corner, back turned to Yaz. Jo has been quiet all afternoon, strangely quiet, and whether she has simply worn herself out with her talk during the car journey and the lugging of boxes of books or not, Yaz is unsure, but something sits, heavy in the air, and Yaz worries, thinking of the darkness which had lurked behind those eyes earlier, like shark just below the surface, ready to bite. She grits her teeth to confront those sharks.

“Jo, you okay?” She asks, keeping her tone light and casual as she pads over to her own bag.

“Hmm?” Jo says, turning to Yaz slowly, clutching pyjamas to her chest. Obviously Yaz had broken her out of deep thought, going by the way she blinks slightly bemused in the other woman’s direction.

“You okay?” Yaz repeats. “Only you’ve seemed a bit quiet this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah, m’fine.” Jo answers half-heartedly, readjusting her grip on the items in her hands. She is not looking Yaz in the eye, a sign, Yaz now knows, of insecurity. She longs to grab her face and pull those eyes into looking into her own. “Just a bit… tired is all.”

“Okay. If you want to talk, I’m here.” Yaz says, reiterating her reassurance which had followed the ‘blip’; she still will be there for Jo if the other woman wants her there. Yaz has done her fair share of sharing today.

“Thanks, Yaz.” Jo says, and she sounds genuine, but those sharks are still lurking, desperate to be fed but Jo is unwilling. She drops her gaze, slipping past Yaz with her head bent down as she says, “I’ll go change in the bathroom. Give you some privacy.”

Yaz watches her go, trying not to ruin her good mood by overthinking Jo’s reluctance to talk as any reluctance to not share with Yaz specifically. In other ways they have interacted, the ‘blip’ has not changed their ability to understand and enjoy each other’s company, so why should this scenario be any different? Unless whatever lurks inside her eyes is because of the ‘blip’. Yaz steers her worry from that vein and instead, as she quickly shucks her clothing in favour of her pyjamas, berates herself for overthinking everything, knowing as she does that it will do her no good to wind herself up into circles. She shakes herself. The insecurity thinking about Jo sometimes brings knocks dangerously close to her awareness of how insecure about herself and her abilities she has become in the last few months, and Yaz grumbles as she slides beneath the covers of the bed, cool and crisp against her skin, too tired to fully confront those feelings, pushing them to the back of her mind. If they want to attack her in the morning, bring it on, but now she finds herself lost in worry about those hidden depths in Jo’s eyes, and whether she will be able to survive the night with the other woman in bed next to her.

Yaz hopes sleep does not evade her for long. 

* * *

Yaz is woken by a cry, and at first she thinks she dreams it, sleep casting confusion over her mind. However, when another cry, louder this time, sounds out into the room, Yaz is wide awake, scrambling up into a sitting position on the bed, ribs protesting the movement. She ignores them, too bewildered and alarmed by the noise which rings through the room like a siren’s call. She looks around and freezes when she spots the reason for the noise right next to her in the dim light of the room.

Jo is sprawled out next to her in the bed, sheets twisted around her hips and face contorted in pain as she cries out, noises which could be words but are too incoherent to be discernible. Her hands clench and unclench in the sheets, and Yaz watches the movement, transfixed for a moment, sure of what she is looking at.

Nightmare.

She gently calls out Jo’s name, hoping that might rouse the woman, but Jo is too far trapped in whatever her mind is playing out for her, head moving from side to side as she seems to plea with something or someone.

“No, no, no, no, please!” She cries, Yaz hearing her words this time, and her heart clenches, her own hands shaking a little at the sight of the other woman in so much distress. Yaz had known there had been something bothering Jo, and she thinks this might be the aftereffects rearing their head to really drive the nail into the coffin of Jo’s misery. _Well, tough_ , Yaz thinks, _I’m here, and I’m not letting you have her_.

“Jo.” She calls, lightly touching the woman’s shoulder and giving it a shake. “Wake up.”

Jo continues to writhe, still pleading, and so Yaz calls out for her louder with soothing placations and a firmer shake of her shoulder. Jo lets out a loud cry of “NO!” and Yaz crosses the line from surety to desperation; she needs to wake up Jo _now._

“Jo, wake up!” She nears shouts, hoping other guests are not disturbed, and shakes the other woman’s shoulder one last time. Jo gasps, eyes flying open and shooting upright in the bed, scrambling for purchase against the sheets. She is panting, chest heaving, and she blinks confusedly, eyes struggling to focus. _Glasses._ Yaz reaches across her with a small “It’s alright,” and grabs for the woman’s glasses from her nightstand, passing them to her. Jo takes them and shoves them onto her face, pushing her hair back as she gets her bearings, eyes focussing on Yaz and widening slightly.

“Hey.” Yaz says, letting out a heavy breath as her own heart rate calms down, adrenaline ebbing out to sea. She keeps her own voice calm and steady, despite the worry that rattles around within her, “You had a nightmare.”

“Ah, sorry.” Jo mumbles, wiping at her face. It is only then Yaz realises that she had been crying, her efforts leaving wet streaks along her cheeks.

“S’okay.” Yaz assures her, sitting back a little to give the other woman space. “Do you want me to turn the light on?”

Jo nods, and Yaz leans over to switch her beside lamp on. It illuminates the room in a soft glow, and it calms Yaz’s frayed nerves a little, pushing off the unknowable shadows and the last vestiges of sleep which had lurked in the room.

Yaz watches Jo carefully as she lets the other woman breathe for a moment, brain trying to catch up with all that has happened, suddenly, in the middle of the night, scrambling to think what might be the best way to proceed. Jo sniffs, letting out a long breath, and Yaz tries to ignore the visible shake of her hands.

“I can give you a minute, if you want?” She offers, pointing to the bathroom, but she then adds, biting the inside of her bottom lip. “But I do know it’s better not to be alone after a horrible nightmare. And I don’t think you should be alone.”

Jo lets out a long shaky breath.

“No. Please stay, Yaz.” She says. Yaz nods, settling back onto the bed, trying to emit a relaxed atmosphere of support. Jo runs a hand through her hair once again, the blonde strands falling lank. She holds her head in her hands, fingers tangled in blonde hair. She lets out a groan. “Sorry for waking ya up.”

“It’s okay.” Yaz assures her. “I don’t think it’s too early yet…” She reaches behind her for her phone on the bedside table, pressing on the screen so that it lights up. 3:30 am. Ah. Jo sighs, having caught a glimpse of the time, and resumes putting her head in her hands. She glances up at Yaz through her fingers, and Yaz meets her gaze with a steady patience she hopes will be reassuring. She finds herself feeling more assured in her own abilities when confronted with situations like this, it makes her feel more like herself to be able to offer Jo comfort. She hopes the other woman will take it; it seems whatever is bothering her is severely taking its toll.

“It’s been a difficult twenty-four hours.” She finally admits, and Yaz shuffles a bit closer to indicate she is listening. “Car journeys… they’re stressful for me.”

“Oh.” Yaz says, surprising seeping into her tone. Suddenly, understanding about Jo’s demeanour and attitude during the car ride comes to her like someone switching on a lightbulb. “Is that why you were so…”

“Abrasive? Brash? Loud?” Jo says with a wince. Yaz nods and the other woman sighs. “I think so. I got myself wound up.” She scoffs and shakes her head, saying self-depreciatingly. “Listen to me. Thirty-one years old and I can’t control my emotions like that.”

“Stop it.” Yaz says, not unkindly. “You have every right to feel what you do. You told me to stop beating myself up, well you stop beating yourself up too!”

Jo still looks unsure, something unspoken lurking on her face. Yaz waits patiently, noticing her hands have subconsciously come to rest at Jo’s side on the bedsheets, offering comfort.

Jo raises her head from her hands, clasping them together in her lap. She clears her throat, looking down at her lap as she says, “River died in a car crash. I was in the car with her.”

“Oh my god…” Yaz mutters, sitting back on her heels. Of _course_ that would make Jo nervous to be in a car, _of course_ that is why she had seemed so out of sorts. Yaz feels horrified. River’s death, she knows it had been sudden, unexpected, but to find out it had been in such a devastating manner, and that Jo had _been there._

“A drunk driver didn’t notice the traffic lights and went careening into the side of our car when he failed to stop for us.” Jo mutters, speaking the words as if relating a script. “He hit River’s side head-on and…” She swallows, taking in a shaky breath, voice wet with emotion. “She was killed instantly.”

Yaz swears, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Jo, you can stop if you don’t want-”

“I got off quite lightly compared to her.” Jo says with disdain, shaking her head. “Few broken bones and scars, but nothing like what River-” She cuts herself off, taking in a shaky breath which leaves her as a sob.

“Jo. Stop. Please stop.” Yaz says, her assertiveness coming back to her, smothering her shock somewhat as she seeks to comfort the other woman. She places her hand on the other woman’s clasped ones, prising them open. Jo fights her for a second before she gives in to the comfort of Yaz’s touch and clasps Yaz’s hands in her own. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.”

Jo nods, and Yaz watches the sad journey of a tear trace its way down her cheek. It lands on their conjoined hands, warm and wet. “I will never forget the sound of that car hitting ours…” She lets out a sob. Yaz’s heart plummets to her feet.

“Is that what your dream was about?”

Jo’s small nods breaks Yaz’s resolve, and she asks. “Jo, do you mind if I hug you?” Her own voice shakes slightly. The other woman shakes her head and Yaz wraps her in her arms, Jo’s body warm and solid and alive against hers. “I’m so sorry that happened.” She whispers into Jo’s ear and holds the other woman as she sobs into Yaz’s neck, not minding the moisture seeping into her shirt.

“You could have said something if you wanted to.” Yaz whispers after a while, Jo still in her arms. “If there was any way I could have made that journey easier for you.”

A confession leaves Jo in the barest of whispers. “I really messed up with that kiss, Yaz, I didn’t know if you…”

“If I what?” Yaz asks, and lets Jo pull away from her when the other woman pulls against her hold, keeping close.

“If you’d feel comfortable being told something like that. It’s a lot, I know it is.” Jo says, not looking at Yaz, eyes on her lap.

“Jo…” Yaz cannot fight it. She puts her hand gently to Jo’s face and turns her head, so she is looking at Yaz. “I told you, the kiss it… it changed nothing about how much I care about you.”

Jo clenches her eyes shut, moving her face further into Yaz’s hand. “You’re too good to me, Yasmin Khan.” 

Yaz swallows her confusion, perplexed as to why Jo assumes she would think so terribly of her, wondering what self-conscious awareness is fuelling such a bad opinion of herself. Probably something similar to that which constantly nags Yaz with worry that Jo does not care about her, even when the evidence against such thoughts overwhelmingly says otherwise. With that thought something bugs her in the back of her head, and she finds herself blurting out with realisation, “When I were injured, you came in the bus with me.”

Jo sniffs, pushing her glasses further up her nose. Yaz lets go of her face, sitting back on her haunches. “It weren’t a long journey, and I had you to focus on. It weren’t so bad.”

“You did that for me…” Yaz murmurs, staring at this woman in front of her. This woman, who has endured so much, and yet is still kind and caring and selfless, who had felt so guilty over both the kiss and her lashing out at Yaz as a result of trauma and stress she had kept that pain from her in order to spare her.

Yaz wants to kiss her again. She wonders if she should. Perhaps now, when the ghost of River seems to sit in the room with them, might not be the right time. Perhaps there might never be a right time, Yaz still unsure in what form Jo’s concern for Yaz comes from. They’ve had their share of rashness and miscommunication; Yaz does not want to add to that.

“You don’t have to hide that from me anymore.” Yaz assures her. “You don’t have to feel as if you need to keep that bottled up for my sake. I don’t want you to.”

Jo nods, taking in a shaky breath, but her tears have stopped, and she looks a little more collected. Her eyes meet Yaz’s, and those hazel depths are clear of sharks, but something else lurks there, softer, like caramel, and there is a moment, one single moment where Yaz’s heart leaps in her chest as she thinks Jo is about to kiss her once more. Maybe they are on the same page, maybe Yaz has been overthinking with a self-doubt similar to that which Jo has just admitted to. She holds her breath as the eye contact continues, a moment seemingly suspended in time. Then, something flickers in Jo’s eyes, something uncertain, and she lowers her gaze, clearing her throat. The moment is over.

“You should get back to sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” Jo says, rubbing at her forehead.

They do. The festival looms and Yaz hopes Jo’s confidence over her talk has not been shaken by this night’s events. Still, that is not going to stop her if Jo needs her. “You should go to sleep, too.” Yaz replies.

Jo scoffs. “Not sure if I’m going to be able to.”

However, once Yaz convinces her to lie down under the covers once again, and, for both Jo’s benefit and her own selfish reasons, keeping hold of the woman’s hand, Jo is asleep before Yaz is, face finally calm in sleep. Yaz sighs, curling onto her side next to the other woman and closing her own eyes, mind whirring with all she has learnt this night, shocked and yet both relieved at how it explains the tension that has plagued them all day. She must eventually fall asleep next to Jo’s warm body, as the next thing she is aware of is waking up to bright sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains, the sound of Jo’s light snoring next to her, and the feel of both their hands still clasped together under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussions of death- discussions of car crash and injuries 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed Yaz's overthinking and these two idiots dancing around each other! Shout out to my stint as a tour guide for the information on King Arthur's Round Table! Also i visited Falmouth as a child but my overriding memory is only of the Maritime Museum, so I've gone based off pictures and Google street view, so bear with there is artistic license! 
> 
> I'm looking into splitting my chapters into two, as these are all very long and will remain roughly this length from here on and updating twice weekly (Thursday and Sunday), how does that suit? I'll have to try and figure it out, but i think it's a horrible wait a week and i like interacting with readers so :)
> 
> See you next time :)


	15. Together (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so as you can see from the chapter title, this is part one of two of this chapter, as i'm going to start my new schedule of posting every Sunday and Thursday, with the singular chapter i would have posted only on Thursday split into two so that there are quicker updates in shorter instalments. This is also why the chapter count has shot way up! I'll try and split the chapters where it makes sense in the narrative, but we'll see how i go- it might be a case of simply splitting it in half (ish) where i can! Anyway, please enjoy this, and part two will be coming Thursday :) (and thank you for all your comments and kudos so far- I'm so happy people are enjoying my story, which is also why i wanted to post more than once a week, because i really enjoy interacting with everyone :) )

“… And that is why one could consider King Arthur perhaps the greatest mystery in this country, and, also, the greatest king. Thank you.”

Yaz shoots Jo a big thumbs up as the other woman leaves the stage to a rapturous round of applause from her audience, shooting them a beaming smile before her eyes land on Yaz and she pulls a comical face of relief. Very nearly tripping over the step down from the stage, Jo makes her way towards where Yaz is stood to the side of the platform, letting out a big sigh as she reaches her.

“Jo, that were amazin’!” Yaz exclaims excitedly. “Everyone were proper into it!”

It is true, and Yaz had had to split her time between watching Jo and watching the audience, pride and relief on the other woman’s behalf filling her at the sight of their enraptured faces and Jo’s seemingly effortless ability to capture them in her hold. Jo is something else entirely when she is talking about what she is passionate about, and Yaz feels privileged to have witnessed it, especially in light of the night before; Jo seems to have pulled off a magic trick.

The other woman had been quieter that morning, barely eating breakfast, and even now Yaz can see the dark circles under her eyes, despite the jubilant energy which fills her body and voice. She had assured Yaz she would be fine, and it appears that she has done more than fine, as before Jo can open her mouth to reply to Yaz’s comment, she is being swarmed by members of the audience asking her questions and effusing about how much they had enjoyed her talk. She shoots Yaz an apologetic smile as she gets caught up in the crowd, and Yaz waves her away, taking a step back and letting Jo have her moment; she is more than happy to watch the woman further.

Eventually, the crowd dwindles down to only a couple of clingers on, and Jo manages to peel herself away from them with an apology and a handshake. She looks to Yaz with disgust afterwards as she walks over, wiping her hand down the front of her top. “I hate shaking people’s hands. His were all sweaty.”

Yaz laughs and gestures in the direction of the exit of the large gazebo they had been hosted in. “Come on. Let’s got and get something to eat. I think you might need it.” She thinks of the singular piece of toast Jo had consumed that morning, not even the pain au chocolat on offer at the buffet being enough to tempt her.

Jo watches her carefully as they exit the tent. “What?” Yaz asks her.

“Thank you, Yaz.” Jo says, tone weighed down with emotion and meaning and Yaz feels her cheeks blush. She links Jo’s arm with her own, mirroring how they had walked down to Amy’s party a week ago.

“It’s my pleasure.” She says lightly. “Now, come on. I think I see a waffles van over there.”

“Oh! Waffles!” Jo cries with a child-like delight, and Yaz feels the concerns and worries of yesterday melt away, ghosts which linger in the shadows which stalk them as the sun shines down on them following their every footstep but ignored, for now. Yaz has the whole day ahead of her with Jo, no pressing concerns and things between them as calm as the sea which spans out in front of them, behind the peaks of the gazebos which clutter the field. For the first time in a long while, it feels easy for Yaz to follow that encouragement that had been offered that very first week in Cornwall: to simply relax. 

* * *

The weekend passes in a blur of noise and laughter and ice cream and waffles, Jo’s talks taking place each morning and allowing them therefore to spend the rest of each day together whilst helping Grace run the bookstore. Yaz catches the other woman watching them both very carefully at times, something glinting in her eye, and she insists they take a couple of hours for each other’s company whilst she attends to their stall each afternoon, smiling cheekily. Yaz does not protest, and neither does Jo.

Yaz has caught Jo, too, watching her very carefully, something playing in the back of her eyes, something soft and grateful and yet incredibly careful, guarded secretly, Jo not giving anything away. Sometimes, however, she slips, and she subconsciously reaches for Yaz’s arm to link with hers, or grabs the other woman’s hand when she is excited by something, or tells Yaz she would look beautiful in the garments that are displayed in a stall they pass by as they stroll through the festival. Yaz lets her, every single time, and she feels herself clinging to a hope more solid than anything she has felt before; they have scaled the mountain of the last week gone by, and they have come through, Yaz thinks, stronger and surer of each other’s intentions. All that is left, Yaz supposes, is for one of them to make that final ascent and pull the other with them; she knows that were Jo to do so, she would take that outstretched hand willingly and fall into her arms.

“Oh!” Jo exclaims, late on Saturday afternoon, the arm not threaded through Yaz’s pointing at one of the stalls in front of them. “They’re from Tintagel!”

They are in a far corner of the field they have not yet had time to explore, occupied by stalls selling trinkets and jewellery. As they approach the stall which has drawn Jo’s attention, Yaz notices the tables which line the inside of the small gazebo are filled to the brim with small metal pieces, ranging from bracelets to tokens, all displayed neatly and orderly on velvet displays. A woman sits in the corner, and she smiles, wrinkles creating deeper indents on her face as she does, when she notices them approaching, and when she spots Jo’s excitement she offers a small ‘can I help you?’

“This is the symbol from the rocky valley, isn’t it?” Jo says, pointing to the small display directly in front of them, obviously the gifts the woman is most keen to sell, seeing as they are on star display. Jo scrunches her nose up. “Well, I know it is, but I thought I’d be polite and ask you first. How am I doing?” She says, turning to Yaz, who smiles approvingly. Fondly.

“Very well.”

“Yes, it is indeed.” The woman says, brushing past Jo’s oddities. She rises from her chair and drifts towards them in a waft of light fabric. Her hands clasp together in front of her when she comes to back stop, long curly greying hair drifting past her shoulders.

“The symbols were found in the 1940s.” Jo explains to Yaz as her eyes roam over the table of goods in front of them. “They’re either from the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, or later in the nineteenth century, which is quite the difference. No one really knows what they mean, depends who you ask.”

“That is what I hoped to emulate when I made these tokens here.” The stall owner says with a light voice and calm patience. “Each one is different, carved from hand, although they may all look the same. And in that space, one can find one’s own meaning for what the symbol means to them.”

Yaz peers down at the trinkets on offer in front of them. The symbol they are discussing is constructed from circular patterns overlapping and intertwining with each other. Some looks like crescent moons, others small circles within a larger circle, and Yaz traces the intricate work of the lines carved into silver, impressed, knowing this must have taken much skill. Some of the symbols are attached to silver chain or small black thread, and some are simply left on their own. Yaz traces a finger down one of the tokens, the metal cool under her touch.

“Just like King Arthur.” She murmurs to Jo. “You can make your own meaning from it.”

Jo smiles, both women caught in the memory of their first trip together. Energy had existed between them then, but it had sparked with nothing like the electricity it does now. Yaz steadies herself with a deep breath.

Jo turns to the stall owner. “Can I take one of the necklaces, please? On the silver chain, yeah.”

The woman makes a delighted sound and lifts one of the silver necklaces from the display. “Would you like me to wrap it for you?”

“No,” Jo says. “I’ll take it.”

Yaz almost offers to place the necklace around Jo’s neck and help her with the clasp at the back, but before she knows what is happening Jo is smiling and holding the necklace aloft in front of her. “Turn around.” The other woman orders. Yaz frowns.

“Jo, what-”

“Turn around, I’ll put it on you.” Jo orders, nodding to gesticulate Yaz should turn. The other woman hesitates still, surprise flooding her body, mixing with delight to make her feel as if her insides are made of melted caramel. She sees that warm caramel reflected in Jo’s eyes. “Go on.”

“You don’t have to-” Yaz begins to protest politely as she turns, holding her long hair back from her neck as she does.

“I know.” Jo says as she pulls the necklace around to Yaz’s front and clasps it together in the back. Once she is done, she takes Yaz’s hair from the other woman’s hand and trails it down her back, covering the clasp. “But I want to.”

“There.” Jo says, once Yaz has turned back around. She admires the necklace, eyes trailing from it to Yaz’s eyes. She looks slightly nervous. “Is that alright? You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.” Yaz says firmly, stopping Jo’s spiral. Her fingers play with the small token around her neck. She turns to the stall owner. “And one for her, please.”

“Yaz, no, you don’t-” Jo instantly goes to protest as the stall owner makes a sound of delight and holds up a second necklace for Yaz to take.

“ _I_ want to.” Yaz says as she takes the necklace, and oh, Jo’s eyes speak all she cannot herself say, all she cannot herself quite figure out yet into words and actions. She melts, turning and allowing Yaz to clasp her own necklace around Jo’s neck so that when she pulls away and turns around again, they are matching. Jo beams, and Yaz matches her smile with one of her own.

“The symbol can mean for you whatever you want it to.” The stall owner says, looking at them with kind eyes. “For both of you. Together.”

_Together._ Yaz and Jo, Jo and Yaz. Together. Yaz’s lungs seem to freeze up for a moment and her heart quivers. Together. It sounds too much like a song that has yet to be played. A tune unknown and yet the notes… they hang in the air, simply needing to be plucked from the sky and composed into a tune which makes sense to them.

“What do you think Yaz?” Jo asks her, eyes searching hers, looking unsure. Yaz realises she is being asked to dictate the notes of this particular melody in this situation and she steels herself, bringing her courage to the sticking place. She has been so uncertain, flailing around on the end of her thoughts for so long now that she dares to take action out of desperation alone.

“Together.” She says. “Unity. You and me, us.”

Fear flickers for a solitary second in Jo’s eyes, but soon it is being eclipsed by something which looks much more like relief and happiness. “Together.” She repeats, tone hoarse. 

* * *

Yaz fiddles with her phone in her hand for a few moments more before she makes up her mind, pressing ‘phone’ on Bill’s number before she can second guess herself. She watches Jo as she queues at the waffle stall, and only when Bill picks up does she let her eyes leave the other woman. She fiddles with the necklace which rests in the centre of her sternum.

“Yaz! What’s up, man?” Bill says on the other end of the line. “How’s it going?”

“Yeah, it’s…. well, where do I start?” Yaz says with a light huff.

She relates all that has happened since she and Bill last spoke, which was right after Yaz learned about River. By the time she has finished, Jo is nearing the front of the waffle queue, and Bill lets out a small ‘woah’ of exclamation.

“I just needed to speak to someone outside of the two of us, to make sure I’m not reading too much into all of this.” Yaz says, biting her lip. She feels slightly guilty that the last few times she has talked to Bill have been to get her advice; she makes a mental note to text her later.

“Well, mate, what can I say… you’re essentially living out a romantic fantasy.” Bill says, and Yaz tuts.

“No, I’m not, really, it’s way more complicated.” Yaz had not mentioned Jo’s nightmare, not specifically, alluding only to it as a turn in events which has impacted how they have both interacted with each other after the kiss, bringing them closer after a period of uncertainty.

“It’s complicated, yeah, I get that, but if you two can work through it, and by the sounds of it your feelings for each other should help you with that, then isn’t that gonna make your relationship stronger?” Bill reasons. “Like, you’ve already had growth as friends, outside of a relationship, it’s going to make it a bit easier to be romantically involved.”

Yaz sighs. She has not thought much about what she wants from her affection for Jo. A relationship? How would that work with her in Sheffield and Jo down here, hundreds of miles away? Long-distance, could that work? Is she getting ahead of herself here? Should she be thinking that far into the future, or should she stick to the motto which has hung over her head since she arrived in Kennock Cove: to simply relax and let events take their course? Reality and indecision crashes down on her and she lets out another sigh, Bill prompting her when she does not say anything.

“This is driving me nuts, Bill.” She admits. “I keep doubting myself. Overthinking everything I say and do.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Bill says, her honesty like a sharp punch to Yaz’s gut.

“I know! That’s why it’s been weirdin’ me out.” Yaz says. She bites her lip. It also sits too close to the doubt that has grown around her life and career in Sheffield, which is another reason she finds it so unsettling; she does not mention that to Bill. “I think it’s because… well, I think it’s because I care about her. A lot.”

“You don’t say.” Bill says sarcastically.

“Stop it!” Yaz complains good naturedly, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches Jo reach the front of the queue and turn around to give her a thumbs up. She returns the gesture with one of her own. “I’ve never felt so unsure of myself with another person. I don’t want to do anything that will risk me hurting her. Risk me losing her.”

“Well yeah, but you’ve also got to look out for yourself and how you’re feeling.” Bill reasons. “Yaz, tell me, do you honestly think she is going to turn around and laugh in your face if you admit to feeling more than just platonic feelings for her?”

Yaz chews the inside of her lip. “No.” She finally says.

“So what is it you’re really afraid of?” Bill asks. “Is it… is it…” Bill’s hesitation gives Yaz all she needs to know that Bill is going to step into delicate territory. She braces herself and tells herself Bill is only looking out for her, giving her advice.

“Is it what, Bill?”

“Has this got anything to do with how things at home were making you feel? I mean, I know you weren’t exactly filled with self-confidence then, and you’re saying you keep second guessing yourself.”

“Partly,” Yaz admits, hanging her head and running a hand through her hair. “I think it’s… she makes me so happy, Bill. I haven’t felt this good in so long and I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then talk to her, before it is too late.” Bill pushes gently. “Don’t think about any of the bigger questions. Seems simple to me: you like her, she likes you, by the sounds of it, and if you both can listen to each other, and understand what each other are feeling a bit better by finally expressing _those feelings_ then… it’s gotta be better than inaction, hasn’t it? You broke it off with Clara because you weren’t happy, so make moves now to chase what _is_ making you happy.”

Yaz cannot think what to say, mouth opening and closing like a guppy fish. Bill calls her name once, twice, and finally Yaz blurts out, “She bought me a necklace.”

“Oh, Yaz.” Bill exclaims on a sigh.

“And I bought her one in return.”

“Oh my god, Yaz! You are well in it, mate!” Bill exclaims.

“Hard to tell sometimes, with Jo, what’s running through her head.” Yaz says as she watches the other woman waiting for their waffles, talking animatedly to a flustered looking woman behind the stall. “She’s very… kooky.” She smiles to herself, Ryan’s original descriptor coming to her tongue.

“I think that message was pretty obvious, mate.” Bill scoffs. “Kookiness aside, I don’t think you need to figure out the secrets of the universe to understand what that means.”

“No, I know…” Yaz says, watching Jo collect their waffles and turn her way, concentrating on not dropping them to the grass. Jo is a million and one things all bundled up into one. Jo _is_ the universe personified. She is things both knowable and unknowable, and yet at the end of the day, differences and kookiness aside… she is just human. Perhaps Yaz has deified her too much, moulded her into something supreme in the shadow of her own self-consciousness, struck a difference between them which has played on insecurities which have left her floundering in inaction. But when she thinks about it, lays it all bare in front of her… they are equals in this game of hearts, are they not? Two women confused by the messages of their own hearts and each other just looking for some clarity. Perhaps that is what the necklaces have given them: the exchange of tangible gifts a clear statement of shared affection. Yaz feels as if she is seeing the clear waters for the first time, instead of the muddied ones, and she cannot keep the smile off of her face as Jo finally joins her, waffles intact, and plonks herself down on the grass next to her.

“I got you extra chocolate sauce!” She says.

“Who’s that?” Bill asks on the other end of the phone. “Oh my god, Yaz, is that her?”

“I’ve gotta go.” She says to Bill, rolling her eyes at Jo.

“Wait, Yaz, lemme speak to her! Hey Jo-”

Yaz presses the ‘end call’ button and drops her phone to the ground. “Sorry.” She says to Jo as she takes her waffle from the other woman. “That was my friend Bill.”

“Ah, I see.” Jo says, digging into her waffle with the small wooden fork that has been provided. “I hope you were telling her how amazin’ I am.” She jokes with a cheeky grin.

“Oh, stop.” Yaz says with a good-natured eye roll.

They sit there together and eat their waffles, two women, two equals, together and yet… still apart. And yet their necklaces rest against their sternums and offer an overture to that tune that might soon be written into a sweet melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The symbol at Rocky Valley is actually a maze-like image which some people think is connected to a celtic symbol, some to Greek myth, and others just think it is a hoax, but I thought it would be fun to change it to Gallifreyan symbols! We went on many family walks when I was a child in the rocky valley and the seeing the symbols carved into the rock filled me with curiosity and made the place, to me, even more beautiful and ethereal, and so I wanted to include it here but also adapt it for Yaz and Jo.   
> Thank you so much for reading, i'll see you thursday :)


	16. Together (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I'm very nervous for this one I... I really hope you like it :D

Yaz feels a warm weight over her torso, and something solid pressed against her back. She blinks sleepy eyes open, wincing slightly at the sunlight which streams in through a gap in the curtains. Her brain slowly fires up and she becomes aware that the solid warmth behind her is a body, and swiftly following that realisation is another: that this body is Jo’s.

Yaz bursts into full consciousness, heart racing as the woman next to her, or rather, wrapped around her, remains unaware of their predicament, her breaths soft and slow on the back of Yaz’s neck. Jo’s arm is around her waist, her leg slotted in between Yaz’s. Yaz has to admit it is comfortable, cosy, not cloying; they must have gravitated towards each other in the night. She is not sure how that makes her feel. Or rather, it makes her feel _too_ much.

This is as close to getting what Yaz so desires that they have come, and unintentionally, too. There is a bittersweet irony in that, as if their own bodies are saying that togetherness is possible, even while they still orbit each other in consciousness.

She grits her teeth, unsure whether to try and detangle herself from Jo before the other woman wakes. Before she can make up her mind, however, Jo begins to stir, letting out a soft sigh which tickles the hair on the back of Yaz’s neck, making her shiver.

Jo begins to shift, and Yaz can tell when she is awake by the change in her breathing. She lets out a small cough, keeping her gaze trained on the pillow in front of her. “Err… hi.”

“Hi.” Jo says hoarsely, still waking up. “Err…” Yaz can feel her shifting about, obviously taking in their situation. The other woman’s leg disappears from between hers. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Yaz says quietly and allows Jo to detangle herself from Yaz. The bed dips as Jo sits up, and Yaz slowly turns around to look at the other woman. Jo is sat on the edge of the bed, head in her hands as she rubs at her eyes. She must feel the weight of Yaz’s gaze on her, as after a moment she turns and offers the other woman a small smile.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Yaz does not know whether that question is meant to imply something or not. Sometimes it is hard to tell whether Jo is being purposefully obtuse or does not realise she is doing it. “Err, yeah.” She replies, raising herself up onto her elbows. “Fine.”

“Good.” Jo replies. She turns back so that she is facing the room, not Yaz, and runs her hands through her hair. “We should get up, I s’pose. Help Grace pack everything away.” 

“Yeah.” Yaz replies. “You can use the bathroom first.”

She flops back down onto the mattress once the bathroom door has closed behind Jo, one hand resting on her forehead, the other on her stomach. Frustration causes her to dig her fingers into her palms. It had felt so nice to be held in Jo’s arms like that, but it was obvious the other woman did not want to address the situation. That seemed to be a common theme throughout the whole weekend. Maybe Yaz should have said something?

Was it possible that with the weekend coming to an end there might be an end to their procrastination, too? Would Jo, too, be unable to ignore the unconscious, literally, collision of the two of them? 

* * *

“You know, you two don’t have to come back with me.” Grace says as she lugs a crate of books into the back of her car, fairly empty after successful sales at the festival.

“What d’ya mean?” Jo asks as she shoves in her own crate after Grace’s, stepping back to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her necklace catches the light and glints.

“Well, if you wanted to stay on a few days down here, maybe go on a small road trip of your own.” Grace suggests, looking between the two of them. “I think I saw a car hire place not far from here, you could always rent a car for a bit.”

Yaz looks to Jo, pausing in her job of stacking books into the final crate. She sees the other woman visibly tense, hand going to rest over her forearm, rubbing methodically at the skin. Yaz has to admit that the idea of getting a few days away with Jo, on their own, is an incredibly appealing one, but if it makes the other woman uncomfortable to take a car… Yaz curses her ribs; if it were not for them, they might have been able to rent bikes or perhaps a motorcycle. An opportunity lost.

Or so she thinks.

“That sounds like a fab idea.” Jo says, voice perkier than her body language suggests she is feeling. “How ‘bout it Yaz?”

Yaz struggles for words for a moment. “Well, yeah, but-”

“Can’t be too much money to hire a car for a few days, can it?” Jo says to no one in particular as she gets to work on packing up the car once more, taking the book from Yaz’s limp grip and stuffing it into the crate before heaving the whole thing over and into the boot. “Find a company that has another firm nearer to us, we can drop it back off and head back home at that same time.”

_Home._ Yaz gets caught on that thought, and how Jo correlates it to Kennock Cove, and finds herself floundering for a response once again.

“That’s a great idea!” Grace enthuses, hands on hips as Jo does the last of the heavy lifting. Finally, the stall is clear, and Jo slams the boot door shut, wiping her hands on her trousers. Yaz stares at her, slightly bemused by her behaviour but knowing that bringing it up in front of Grace would not be the right thing to do; Jo had admitted the other woman had no idea about Jo’s issue with cars when Yaz had asked her one evening. “What about it Yaz?”

“Err… yeah.” Yaz says, looking to Jo who appears relieved that Yaz is going along with her and revealing nothing to Grace. “I mean… I’d love that!”

“That’s settled then!” Grace says. She heads for the driver’s door, pulling it open. “I’ll stay long enough to ensure you’re all sorted out and then I’ll be on my way. Graham hates it when I’m gone for too long.” She adds with a mischievous wink.

“Don’t let him hold you back, Grace.” Jo jokes as she follows the other woman’s lead and opens the rear passenger door.

“Believe me, love, he couldn’t if he wanted to.” Grace says with a laugh. “And my Graham never would.”

Yaz follows the other two women into the car, still slightly bemused but nonetheless delighted at the prospect of spending a few days alone with Jo. That is, if the other woman really is okay with hiring out a car; Yaz won’t stand by and allow the other woman to make herself uncomfortable for her own benefit, if this is really what this is all about. It is perplexing. 

* * *

Yaz gets the answer to her quandary whilst they are waiting for the sales representative to fetch their hire car from the company’s garage, Jo scuffing her boot across the ground of the small car park for the hire service.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Yaz questions her, watching the other woman rub at her arm again.

Jo lets out a sigh, giving Yaz a small sad smile. Her words are weighted with deeper meaning, and she sounds exhausted when she says, “I want this more than I want the pain of the past. I want… I just want to spend a few days with you.” She shrugs, sticking her hands in her pockets. “When you were hurt, it made it easier for me to deal with, because I could focus on you and… I reasoned that it would be the same with just the two of us and nothing else on our plate. And it’s easier now you know.”

“I’ll be there if it ever gets too much, you know that right?” Yaz says.

Jo gives her a grateful smile, looking relieved. “I know. And… sorry you’ll have to do all the driving.”

“S’alright. I like it.” Yaz waves her off. Jo had admitted, bashfully, that she could not actually drive, but Yaz had reasoned that it would not be too bad with her ribs and so she is willing to take the wheel; she has always enjoyed those moments on patrol when she could simply drive the streets of Sheffield, feeling in control, feeling calmed.

“So, where d’ya fancy going?” Jo asks her, her usual pep back in her voice. She fiddles with the chain of her necklace. Yaz subconsciously brings her hand up to her own. Together.

Yaz gives her a wide smile. “Everywhere.”

Yaz had been hoping for romantic, suggestive, with the intention Jo might pick up on that, but instead the other woman scrunches her nose up and says, “Pfft, I don’t think we can go everywhere Yaz. Although, I do know a few good places.”

Yaz finds she prefers that instead. 

* * *

Evening is drawing closer when they finally pull into the car park of a small B&B miles and miles down the coastline from Falmouth. Their afternoon had consisted of winding roads and stops at nearby beaches and beauty spots, and Yaz had indulged Jo by allowing them to gorge themselves on donuts and ice cream. It is all she had imagined when she had first started planning this holiday in Cornwall, except it is even better, because there is someone else by her side.

The car journey had been much more endurable than their trip down to Falmouth, and Yaz thinks the frequent stops to relax and unwind had helped Jo immensely. She had either spent her time flicking through radio stations in search of good songs, or had lapsed into silences, hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her side. Yaz had carefully prodded, asked if she was alright, but she had always assured her she was, that she was deep in thought, but not feeling sensitive.

“This looks as good a place as any.” Jo says as they exit the car, peering up at the building in front of them.

“As good as any?” Yaz says, “It’s stunning.”

The B&B is an old Victorian house, with a gothic inspired grandeur, Tudor-esque beams and large bay windows. The sun catches at the white of its façade and it glows almost invitingly. Peering behind her, Yaz sees they have an incredible view of the sea. A signpost indicates there is a small trail down to a beach below. Yaz hopes they have a spare room.

The door opens and out bustles a middle-aged woman whose blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She appraises them, giving both women a look up and down as she dries a glass with a tea towel. “Good evening, darlings. You looking for a place to stay?”

“Yeah, we are.” Yaz says. The woman looks between them, something knowing and interested in her gaze.

“Is that just one room?”

Yaz looks to Jo. The other woman had set the precedent the last time. Jo looks back, something soft and certain in her gaze. “Yes. Just one.”

“Ahh, right then, follow me. I’ve got a lovely attic room spare if you like. Should give you some privacy.” The woman says, gesturing them to follow her into the B&B with a wink.

The woman, Jackie, she introduces herself as, leads them through into a wide entrance hall, stopping them to take their names and details before she leads them up three flights of stairs until finally they reach a small landing, having to stoop slightly as they reach the eaves of the house. A small blue door, the same blue, Yaz notices, as that of Tardis Books, greets them, and Jackie unlocks it before passing off the key to Yaz.

“Here we are.” She says, stepping back to allow both women into the room. “Has all the facilities you need. Teas, coffees, snacks in case you get peckish. I had an ex once who kept a satsuma in his dressing gown in case he got hungry in the night, so there’s some fruit for you there. I call it ‘Trevor’s surprise.’” She points to a small woven basket filled with fruit, and sure enough there is a small tag attached which reads ‘Trevor’s Surprise’.

“You might want to reconsider that name.” Jo mutters under her breath and Yaz fights back a snigger. Jo shoots Jackie a warm smile. “Thank you so much. This is really… Brilliant.”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Jackie says, going to close the door behind her. “I know what it’s like when you want some time alone with no one else around. My daughter was just the same with her fella when they finally plucked up the courage to stop dancing around each other. All the time I’d be coming in and out, offering them tea, biscuits, and they’d-” She cuts herself off as she notices Yaz and Jo’s wearisome, awkward looks. “Sorry, loves, what am I like? Could talk for the whole of East London when I was there. Anyway, you enjoy yourselves, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Yaz offers the woman another word of thanks before the door closes behind her, and she and Jo are left alone. They glance at each other, and the moment their eyes meet, both women burst into giggles.

“She’s a character.” Yaz remarks, slinging her backpack onto the bed. The room is spacious, although not overly large, the ceiling sloping on two sides owing to their being in the roof. A double bed rests in the centre of the room, looking out over a wide dormer window on the other side of the room which affords them a wonderful view of the sea beyond.

“You can say that again.” Jo says, copying Yaz’s action. She runs her tongue over her lips and her hands fold into the ends of her sleeves. Nervous, Yaz can tell. “Yaz, do you… shall we go for a walk on the beach?”

“Yeah!” Yaz says, shrugging. Sunset is approaching, she supposes Jo wants to watch it. “Sounds good.”

Following Jo out of the room, Yaz has a strange feeling which crawls up her spine, and she instinctively brushes a hand against her back. It sits between dread and hope, anticipation and procrastination. She straightens her shoulders, pushing them back as she locks the door behind them, pocketing the key, evoking the stance she so often takes whilst on duty. Strong. Sure.

She has a feeling this might be what she has been waiting for, if Jo’s nervousness and the feeling snaking up Yaz’s spine is anything to go by. She hopes she is ready. No. She knows she is. 

* * *

The path down to the beach is winding, and Yaz keeps careful footing as some of the rocks crumble under her feet. Once they have descended, however, it is completely worth it, as a wide expanse of sand spreads out in front of them, the tide lapping at the shore in a soothing rhythmic pattern. She has no idea where they are, but she could not care less, with Jo’s presence by her side and the beauty of nature laid out before her.

“Here, let’s walk on to that bit over there. I don’t think we’re going to run into anyone, but we’ll be off the main beach.” Jo says, pointing to a rocky outlay which the sand graciously parts for. Beyond that is a cove, Yaz can see, which should afford them some privacy. For what Yaz can only speculate with tingling nerves.

Their hands brush as they make their way along the beach, strolling. Yaz glances over to Jo, whose face is relaxed but whose hands are still bunched into the ends of her sleeves. She gives her a warm smile, trying to communicate she has nothing to worry about, but she is not quite sure she carries it off when fizzling anticipation strikes her down, too.

The sun is soon to begin its descent, bathing them in a warm glow which reminds Yaz of a fireplace on a cold winter’s evening. It catches at Jo’s hair, setting it alight, and Yaz is brought back to the first day she saw the woman next to her, on the beach, alone, and how since then each step towards her has been lit by the same fire.

They finally stop once they have rounded the outlay and skirt around it to come under the cover of the small cove. The sudden muffling of the sound of the roaring waves makes Yaz’s ears feel strange for a moment, but when it passes she finds she enjoys the calm which settles over the cove, whilst still providing them a glorious view of the beach and approaching sunset. 

Jo clears her throat, hands going to her pockets as she looks from the horizon to Yaz. Yaz takes a deep breath, and lets the other woman speak.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinkin’, Yaz.” Jo says. “Had lots of things on my mind, past few weeks.”

“Like what?” Yaz prompts.

“Well,” Jo says, sucking her teeth. “I’ve been… fighting with myself, really. All logic gone out the window because…” She lets out a long breath. “You know when I said that our kiss was a mistake?”

Yaz’s heart lurches in her chest, “Yes?”

“Well, it weren’t that the kiss itself were a mistake, it were the…” Jo struggles to find the words. she laughs self-depreciatingly. “Sorry, not so good with words me. Not when I’m trying to say something meaningful and emotional.”

“S’okay.” Yaz says, taking a step closer to her. “Take your time.”

Jo shoots her a grateful smile. “See, this is what I’m trying to say. You, you’re so… understanding, so in tune to how people are feeling and thinking. You’re so… likable.”

“So are you.” Yaz counters.

Jo gives a small laugh before continuing. “When I said the kiss was a mistake, it’s not that I don’t like you, Yaz. I really, _really_ like ya, but… I’ve had to fight all my feelings ‘bout River, too.”

“I can understand that.” Yaz says truthfully.

“I know. You’ve been more than understanding, Yaz, you’ve been… wonderful.” She takes a deep breath, and takes a step forward herself, so that she and Yaz are barely a foot from each other. “So patient with me. I didn’t know what I were feeling at first. If I’m honest, that first week you were here, I were a bit caught up in past memories… that’s why that pub night went a bit… wonky.” Yaz shoots her a sympathetic smile, encouraging her to go on. “But that second week, when you saved me, and then we began to talk and spend time together… well, I know what I felt like then, but…” Jo bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks how to put thoughts into words. Her hands come up and she begins to gesticulate. “It’s like there’s two sides to things, to put it simply. There’s part of me that loves River, and will always love River, but then this other part began to grow which became more and more fond of you.” She lets out a long breath, foot tapping against the ground. Yaz waits as patiently as she can. “When I told you ‘bout River at Tintagel, it’s because I trusted you with that knowledge, but also because I figured that if I told you… perhaps if it were just a simple crush then maybe you’d understand it wouldn’t be simple to….” She gives Yaz a sheepish grin. “Ya know.”

“You could tell, huh?” Yaz says bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Amy had noticed, Ryan, Grace, perhaps everyone.

Jo shrugs. “I’m not very good with expressing emotions, Yaz, but I think I felt whatever you were feeling. Was like… electricity.”

“Like lightening.” Yaz says, voice suddenly thick with emotion. Jo gives her a warm smile, her own eyes sparkling with emotion.

“I really had no clue that was flirting, though, what you were doing that first week when you came into the bookshop.” She jokes to lighten the tension, and Yaz can tell it soothes her, allows her to continue with what she has to say, so she allows her to do so.

“Shut up.” She grumbles.

Jo sighs, and her eyes trace the horizon again. “When you still looked out for me, after Tintagel, when I were struggling that quiz night and you still offered to be there… my head it were like a big jumble of thoughts, and all I kept thinking was how much I wanted you to be there, how much I wanted to be there for you, as you did for me. I were so touched when you confessed your worries ‘bout your job, Yaz. Some people don’t warm to me, think I’m odd and I can’t say grieving for River has helped with that, but you…”

Yaz takes a step forward, taking one of Jo’s hands and clasping it in her own. “It’s because I really, _really_ like you, too.” She says with a smile. “You’re amazin’, Jo, everyone else is just… wrong.”

Jo closes her eyes tight, swallowing hard. “You’re too good to me, Yaz. I’ve been unfair on you, taking my time thinking about everything, haven’t I?”

“It’s not unfair.” Yaz insists. “It’s given me time to try and understand all that’s happening. I won’t lie and say it’s been wholly pleasant and that I weren’t wracked with indecision recently, but…” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t really, _really_ like you if I didn’t understand it’s because you’ve got a lot going on in there.” She taps lightly at Jo’s forehead with her free hand, and with her other Jo takes hold of that hand and settles it against her cheek.

“I thought I’d messed up with that kiss.” Jo says, eyes still clenched shut. “The alcohol made it all too much. I wanted to do something.”

“I did, too.” Yaz admits.

“You thought you’d kissed me.” Jo remarks, eyes blinking open to look at Yaz. “That’s when I knew I had to confront my feelings, stop running from them, make sense of them all in my brain.”

Yaz gently brushes her fingers against Jo’s cheek. “And have you?”

Jo sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing once more as she leans into Yaz’s touch. “I’m trying not to be afraid of them. Like the car, I want to be stronger. I want to give you what you want, Yaz. I thought holding the truth about River’s death from you might make it easier to deal with it, if I didn’t have confront both sides of ma brain, ya know? But when I saw that I hurt you…” She looks at Yaz, eyes filled with regret. “I were gonna tell you in the morning, with a clear head, but then the nightmare happened and...”

“It felt better after you confided in me.” Yaz admits. “I felt like I’d got your trust back.”

“You hadn’t lost it, Yaz.” Jo assures her. “I were just too much of a coward to say what was up.”

“Don’t call yourself a coward.” Yaz says firmly, squeezing Jo’s hand where it is still clasped in her own. “You’re the bravest woman I know.”

“And you’re the bravest woman _I_ know.” Jo replies, eyes brimming with emotion.

“So, those feelings… where are we now?” Yaz says, bringing them back on topic.

Jo sucks in a sharp breath and looks down at her hand in Yaz’s, playing with her fingers. “Well, I’m trying to be braver, and if I’m really going to do that then I think the next thing I want to say is….”

“Yes?” Yaz says, no more than a whisper. Jo’s eyes meet hers, and in them the sun is reflecting and Jo glows with beaming light.

“Yasmin Khan, can I kiss you?”

Yaz sucks in a quick breath. “ _Yes.”_

The kiss is deeper, more passionate, and softer than their first, which Yaz is officially striking from the record in the light of this kiss. It is rather chaste, but thrilling nonetheless, and Yaz feels as if she has come to the end of a long journey. If she were honest with herself, she would tell herself it felt like coming home. 

They break off after a few minutes, and the moisture in Jo’s eyes is mirrored in her own. She wants this woman, all of her, but she reigns herself back, tells herself they have all the time they need, now, now that they are finally here.

“Thank you.” Jo says, voice breaking, and Yaz tuts, slinking her fingers through Jo’s hair. It is soft and fine.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, but I want to.” Jo says, and she presses her lips to Yaz’s again, stealing a second kiss from her. Yaz does not think about the wider ramifications of finally falling into each other’s orbits, nor does she ask Jo, as she does not think the other woman would want to think about that either. This is a victory, and both women want to savour the moment and cherish it for all it is worth.

They are so wrapped up in each other that they do not break apart until the setting sun catches at both of their eyes and they separate, wincing slightly and shading their eyes with their hands.

“Come on.” Says Jo, holding her hand out for Yaz to take. “Let’s go back to the B&B.”

“You don’t want to stay and watch the sunset?” Yaz asks, surprised.

“Nah.” Jo shakes her head with false bravado. When she notices Yaz has spotted this and is giving her a pointed stare, she adds, “I think it might help me to try and… move on, face feelings, ya know?”

Yaz nods understandingly. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Jo gives her a quick peck on the lips, and Yaz thrills at the fact they can finally give each other small acts of affection like that. “Come on.” Jo says, “It might not be the best idea to ascend that path in the dark, either.”

With each other as their guide, the two women make their way back to their temporary shelter, the sun setting behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you for all the kudos and comments so far, i really hope this moment of coming together was what you'd hoped and expected... Some fluff times to come, but we are far from the end of this story... :D


	17. Affinity (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reception to the last part: I'm so relieved everyone who commented enjoyed their finally kissing!  
> I hope you enjoy Part One of this chapter :D

Yaz’s heart feels as if it is in her throat as they make their descent up to the attic room of the B&B, her hand still clasped tightly in Jo’s, the other woman leading the way. Luckily, they had not bumped into their hostess, Jackie, and Yaz feels like a teenager sneaking in with a girl, trying to avoid her parents.

When the door of their attic room closes behind them, Jo pulls Yaz into a tight hug, dipping her head down to rest on the other woman’s shoulder. Yaz brings her arms up, enveloping the other woman in her embrace.

“Did you want to get any dinner?” She asks, lips grazing the other woman’s ear.

Jo shakes her head, pulling back enough that she can look at Yaz. “Nah. Pretty full from all the donuts and ice cream, if I’m honest. Unless you…”

“Nope.” Yaz says vehemently, shaking her head. “But I do know I would like to do some more kissing.”

Jo smiles. “Sounds good to me.”

They move slowly backwards as they brush lips and stroke hands over shoulders and hips, until eventually Jo’s legs hit the bed and she falls down upon it with a small yelp, Yaz catching herself before she does the same. She giggles before she settles herself down on her good side to avoid jarring her ribs, Jo turning so that both women are facing each other. Yaz is reminded of that morning, waking up in Jo’s arms. “I think we subconsciously knew what was going to happen today.” She says, voicing the thought that had come to her that morning. “Our bodies moved together like they were saying ‘hurry up.’”

Jo laughs, the corners of her eyes creasing, dimples forming on her cheeks. Yaz takes a mental photograph of her then, looking so happy. “Did you think the same?”

Yaz bites her lip, her hand idly playing with the toggle of Jo’s hoodie. “M’only human.”

Jo laughs again and captures Yaz’s lips in a kiss. It deepens, and soon Yaz finds Jo’s hands on her torso, edging under her shirt, whilst her own work to unzip the other woman’s hoodie. She breaks apart from Jo before they can get too far ahead of themselves, her practical, logical side breaking through a miasma of blissful joy. She is out of breath slightly when she speaks. “We don’t have to go too far tonight, if you don’t want to.”

Yaz can feel desire pumping through her veins and sharpening every nerve ending, but she has to admit to herself that she is nervous should it come to the point where they are unclothed, unsure what she would do, feeling unprepared, no matter how much she longs for Jo. Her and Clara had fallen into a routine of sex, doing it whenever it felt like they should, rather than acting on excitement and desire; it had become habitual, rehearsed. Yaz panics for a moment, mind at a blank for how to continue their intimacy, finding old insecurities about how she might compare to River rearing their ugly head.

Jo must notice her hesitation as she cups Yaz’s cheek and strokes softly at her skin. “Hey. You tell me what makes you comfortable, too, okay? There’s two of us in this.”

Yaz nods, letting out a shaky breath. “Maybe we can just kiss and cuddle?”

“That sounds like heaven.” Jo says truthfully. They descend upon each other again, kicking off shoes and scooting further up on the bed. Their movements are not frantic, and Yaz finds that in the slow press of body against body and the deep kissing of lips that there is more room for genuine affection, for enjoying each other’s company having finally made this leap.

Jo lets out a shuddering breath once they break apart after a while, and it sounds suspiciously like a sob. Yaz searches out her eyes, brushing fingertips against the skin of Jo’s cheek. They are wet with unshed tears. Worry flares in her stomach.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“Sorry, s’nothin’,” Jo assures her, sniffing. “Just… too many emotions.”

Yaz understands; it must have taken Jo a lot of thought to get here. Yaz herself feels as if she has run a marathon to get this far. Her own emotions are high, relief fighting with desire fighting with joy fighting with the nagging fear she might mess things up. Focussing on Jo, however, helps her feel calmer, and she knows that Jo finds it easier to focus on Yaz sometimes. So, she replies with, “S’okay. I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed myself.”

Jo’s eyes are instantly filling with concern for Yaz. “Are you alright? Do you want to stop?”

“No, not if you don’t want to.” Yaz assures her. “Just…know that I’m here, okay?” She reaches for the necklace around Jo’s neck, thumbing it. “There’s the both of us. Together.”

Jo’s fingers find Yaz’s necklace and she copies the other woman’s action. “Together.” She repeats.

Yaz reaches up and tucks a strand of Jo’s hair behind her ear, letting her touch stay there, gently running through blonde locks. She can feel Jo’s eyes on her as she does. “I can see why you would make such a fantastic police officer.” Jo remarks. “You’re so compassionate and yet so… strong.”

Yaz offers her a small smile in return. “Thanks. Don’t feel like much of a good cop at the moment.”

“What you did in Wadebridge, that seemed like good cop work to me.” Jo says without thinking, and then her cheeks flush red. “Oh, think I might have forgotten to mention there was a video of it, and Ryan showed it to me and-”

“And apparently you found it very hot.” Yaz teases her, and Jo flushes an even deeper shade of red.

“Well,” She admits wryly. “It was.”

“Good.” Yaz says. “I did feel better, then. Felt more like my old self, when I were so passionate about work. Helping people.”

“I think you still are passionate about helping people. You helped me.” Jo counters. Yaz sighs, a short exhale which tickles Jo’s face and makes the other woman shiver. A confession not yet given is on the tip of her tongue, and buoyed on by their physical and emotional intimacy, Yaz speaks it. 

“You know, I’d just missed out on a promotion before I came down here.” Yaz says. “Been working towards it for _years_ and it just goes to this other bloke…”

Jo’s eyes widen with surprise, her fingers pausing in their trailing across the skin of Yaz’s neck. “That’s terrible…”

“Yeah.” Yaz sighs, something nagging at her in her mind. The promotion she had always put down to her failing abilities, her failing confidence, but she has not talked much about the promotion to anyone but her family, who were there to witness her humiliation, because… If she were to admit it to herself, and raise herself out of a fog of self-doubt, which it is easy to do now, with Jo on the bed next to her, looking at Yaz as if she is something incredible, Yaz would tell herself that something about the missed promotion has been bugging her, something which does not reside with the unease over her own self. “S’weird. I went through the whole process of applying, was just going to have a proper interview, like, with my searg, and then…” Yaz shrugs, hand slapping against her thigh. “This other bloke gets it, out of nowhere with no warning.” 

Jo eyes narrow, her fingers beginning to tap a discordant rhythm against Yaz’s collarbone as she thinks. “Somethin’ don’t sound right ‘bout that, Yaz.”

“Maybe. It were like the last nail in the coffin at the time, though. That’s when I knew I had to get away, take a break or else break myself.” Yaz says, poison biting at her tone, but it is laced with anger this time, more than apathetic hopelessness about her own abilities. Anger at how the promotion had preyed on her insecurities like a crow to a corpse of her dying enthusiasm. Kicking a woman while she is down.

“Sounds to me like they had faith in you. Why dangle it if they didn’t?” Jo face creases with sympathy, but there is a fire in her eyes, a faith in Yaz which burns brightly. “I really don’t believe it were you, Yaz. Perhaps… it was just everything surrounding you that was making you doubt yourself?”

Yaz thinks back to when things started to go wrong for her at work, at how Sheffield was a site of nostalgia for her happy memories but became tinged with a bitter poison which felt too much like frustration and failure. It was oppressive, and the thought of going back feels at this moment as if Yaz were to be stepping into a thunderous tempest. Jo is right; Sheffield has been tainted by the demise of her passion for policing. A demise in turn tainted by the place itself, those surrounding her.

“You are extremely perceptive.” Yaz says. “Especially for someone who fails to recognise social cues sometimes.”

“Hey!” Jo exclaims, although from the smile on her face Yaz can see she is not offended. “That’s not my fault.”

“I know.” Yaz says softly, hand leaving Jo’s hair to trail down her face. “And I really like it.”

“Oh, you ‘really like it’?” Jo says with a teasing tone.

“I really, _really_ like it.” Yaz replies, and they meet once again for another kiss.

“It wasn’t all me, you know.” Yaz says once they have broken apart once again. “Amy… She said to give you time, space, to figure out where your head is at.”

“You’ve been so good to me, Yaz, so patient.” Jo says. Her gaze looks beyond Yaz, eyes glazing over slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop that.” Yaz says, taking a hold of the other woman’s wrist. Jo’s eyes return to hers. “Stop putting yourself down.”

Jo gives her a small smile and shakes her head. “Can I kiss you again?”

“If you promise to stop putting yourself down, yes.”

Jo laughs, a scratchy sound. “I promise, but only if you promise not to try and not doubt how brilliant you are at your job, Yaz.” She says.

Yaz sighs and rolls her eyes, but inside her gratitude flares up with burning intensity; it had felt good to discuss the terrible events at work with anger in the pit of her stomach, instead of self-loathing. Jo had made it easier, just then, for Yaz to twist her thoughts along more contemplative lines, rather than the derogatory straight she has criticised herself in so far. She clings to that feeling and keeps it there, tucked in her chest right next to the blooming affection for the woman who lies right by her side. Perhaps it will be gone in the morning, when Yaz’s emotions have settled a little, but with Jo by her side, it is easier to hope that it might still remain once daylight breaks. And besides, Jo will be beside her when she wakes, and that, above anything else, fills her with a delight as light and bright as the most perfect summer’s day. “Fine. I promise.”

Jo smiles. “Good. Can I kiss you now?”

Yaz laughs and nudges her head against the other woman’s. “Now you may kiss me.” 

* * *

Yaz wakes to blissful silence, the constant beating of waves upon the shore now white noise to Yaz’s ears as she stirs, hands skating over something soft and warm. She cracks open an eye, letting out a long sigh. Jo’s arm. Around her torso, just as it had been the night before, only now… Yaz smiles. Only now, she does not have to hide how much she loves it anymore.

Yaz turns in Jo’s arms until she is facing the other woman, shifting a little awkwardly owing to her ribs, but it is worth it to see the peaceful expression on Jo’s face, how the lines on her forehead and around her eyes are smoothed out somewhat in sleep. She subconsciously shuffles further into Yaz’s hold when Yaz strokes her hand from her neck down to her arm, feeling the solid weight of Jo’s body next to hers. Desire thrums like a low-lying vibration in her soul, but Yaz is happy to wait, happy to spend a relaxing day with the woman in her arms and see where they go from there.

Jo wakes when Yaz puts her hand to her cheek, tracing the line of a scattering of freckles which sit like constellations on her skin with the pad of her forefinger. She sighs, eyes blinking awake, and when she catches sight of Yaz’s soft smile, she returns it with one of her own.

“Mornin’.” She mumbles, eyes closing once again.

“Mornin’.” Yaz replies quietly. “Is this okay?” She asks, finger still tracing Jo’s cheek. The other woman nods and nuzzles her nose further into Yaz’s neck.

“Yes.” Jo replies sleepily. “Is this okay?”

Yaz lets out a light laugh, “Yes.”

“Let’s just stay here all day.” Jo says breath hot on Yaz’s neck.

Yaz laughs again. “You won’t be saying that when you’re hungry for breakfast.”

“M’always hungry for breakfast.” Jo replies, lashes tickling Yaz’s neck as she blinks. “I love breakfast food. Cereal, croissants-”

“Pain au chocolat.” Yaz finishes for her. 

“D’ya think Jackie has some?” Jo asks her.

“If not, you might have to settle for ‘Trevor’s Surprise’.” Yaz jokes and Jo lets out a low groan.

“Oh, don’t remind me.” They are quiet for a moment as they simply enjoy waking up in each other’s arms. Jo presses a soft kiss to Yaz’s neck, and she shudders, pleasure racing through her body. Jo does it again, and Yaz dips her head down to capture the other woman’s lips in a deep kiss. She is slightly out of breath when they eventually break apart again.

“What do you want to do today?” Yaz asks. She feels tentative, her overriding joy being carefully tempered by how new this all is, how waking up in the morning and kissing Jo has never happened before, and that they will need to find some sort of rhythm as to how the day will play out. How the foreseeable future will play out, Yaz thinks dauntingly. Kissing, however, is a good sign, and she finds herself desperately wanting to just forget about _everything_ today and savour Jo’s company and time completely for herself. Forget work, forget the promotion, forget everything but the woman in front of her.

“How about we have a date, a proper date?” Jo suggests, fingers twitching nervously against Yaz’s wrist.

Yaz smiles wide. “All day?”

“Yeah.” Jo says, shuffling up onto her elbows so that she can look Yaz in the face, necklace swinging from her neck. “All day just us, together.”

Yaz is practically beaming. “I’d love that.”

Jo’s eyes flick across Yaz’s face as she takes her in, like she cannot quite believe Yaz is there in front of her. “Nothing else.” She says quietly, eyes eventually coming to rest on Yaz’s. “No problems, no worries… just us.”

Yaz leans up on her own elbow and draws Jo in for a kiss, understanding that her desire is echoing Yaz’s own, and she is relieved that they both seem to just want to enjoy finally being intimate with each other, with being romantic with each other.

“What do ya think about staying here another night? This room is so beautiful and there’s lots to see in this area.” Jo suggests once they have pulled away.

Yaz shrugs. “Sounds perfect to me.” She does not mind where they stay and what they do, so long as she is with Jo. “I’m trusting you to know all the best spots around here.”

“Oh, I think I know a few.” Jo mumbles, and she draws Yaz in for a kiss once again. 

* * *

“Right. So, you weren’t kidding.” Yaz remarks as Jo leads her out, hand in hers, with a small ‘tada’, to the site she has been hyping up all morning. She grins wide at Yaz, obviously delighting in Yaz’s amazement, and grips her hand tighter.

“You can trust me, Yaz, I’m a doctor.” She says with a wink.

“Yeah, of astrophysics, not... not nice ocean views.” Yaz counters, gesturing with her free hand to the vast expanse in front of her. It is, in a word, breath-taking. 

Kynance Cove is all juxtapositions which work in perfect unison. Rocks worn ragged from the ocean are lightly brushed by calm sea waters as they lap, caressing the earth, against the ruddy surface, which tower above Jo and Yaz like giants hewn from the earth. Some rocks stride out confidently into the water but are captured in its embrace as it slinks around them and cuts them off from the shore. Golden sand gives softly under Yaz’s feet, and she wonders at how many must have stood here before her, and taken in all the beauty it has to offer, and yet she has been so lucky to have been brought here at this exact moment, by Jo, as if it was always meant to be this way.

“Ya like it, right? That’s why you’re staring and not saying anything?” Jo asks, face bright and open and just as beautiful as the scene in front of Yaz.

“Love it.” She replies, shaking her head as the spell over her breaks and settles over her just as the waves break and settle over the rocks. “It’s stunning.”

“One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.” Jo agrees, and she shrugs, trying to give off an air of casualness as she adds, “’Course I was alone that time, and I’ve said it before but… these things are always better when you share them with someone.”

“You can share anything with me.” Yaz says confidently, emboldened by the beauty of this place. Everything almost feels… unreal. “Anything at all.”

Jo smiles softly, and she captures Yaz in a kiss.

“Let’s have a wander, and then, I know the café does amazin’ lunches.” Jo says. At Yaz’s pointed look she adds, “Not just sweet stuff, I promise.” 

* * *

Around a mouthful of hot dog topped with onions and tomato ketchup, Jo asks with a cheeky smile, “So, when did you first start to fall for me?” 

Yaz blows out a breath, putting down the spoon to her tomato soup. They are sat on a small picnic bench table outside the café which overlooks Kynance Cove from its clifftop position. Around them on all sides are family and friends all enjoying the glorious day and indulging in well-deserved meals from walks along the beach and cliff-edge. Yaz and Jo had spent a leisurely and, truthfully, romantic hour or so wandering along the beach and climbing over some low-lying rocks, which had given cause for hand holding or brief touches to shoulders and hips. They had then decided that lunch might be a good idea and were able to snag a table overlooking the cove directly. Yaz wonders whether to tell Jo the whole truth or reign back in regard to her question. Honesty is the best policy, she supposes, having promised only an hour or so ago that Jo can tell her anything. “That first week.”

“Really?” Jo says, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Yeah,” Yaz bites her lip. “The flirting thing, remember?”

_Oh Allah, why had she brought that up?_

Jo’s eyes widen with remembrance. “Oh yeah! The flirting I didn’t know was flirting!”

“Yeah because it was that terrible.” Yaz grumbles, embarrassed. Jo winces and puts down her hot dog to take Yaz’s hand in her own.

“You didn’t have to try and flirt with me, Yaz. You captured me just as you were.” She tells her, eyes open and honest. Yaz smiles and nods, feeling better.

“So did you.” Yaz admits, feeling braver. “I saw you on the beach the evening I arrived, at sunset. And then, when Ryan introduced us that second day I… well, I knew you weren’t going to leave my mind anytime soon.” She finishes lamely, taking a sip of soup.

“Why?” Jo asks, head titled to the side, brow creased in confusion.

“Why?” Yaz repeats. Jo seems genuinely confused. “Well because you’re…” Yaz fumbles. “You’re just so… smart, interesting, charismatic, and you’re really beautiful.” It is rather strange to be saying such things when she has been thinking them for so long. Finally admitting them in this manner, though… it feels good. She wants Jo to know, wants to wipe that confusion from her face and replace it with delight.

“Really?” Jo asks, voice breathy, her hand twitching in Yaz’s.

“Yes.” Yaz insists. “Jo… you’re the best person I’ve ever met.” This is a truth she has not admitted to even herself, but having said it, she knows it to be true. Jo reels back slightly, face doing something very complicated. She looks down at her hand in Yaz’s, and Yaz can she her throat move as she swallows.

“I don’t know what to say.” She admits, and when her eyes flick up to Yaz’s she sees a little worry in them. “Seriously, what should I say?”

Yaz smiles, and she rubs her thumb over Jo’s knuckles. “Well, ya could kiss me? That would be a good response.”

“Kissing, yes, I can do that.” Jo says, and she immediately leans over, paying no heed to the food in front of her, and presses her lips to Yaz’s. Yaz can taste onion and the sweet tang of Jo’s raspberry lemonade, and her eyes flutter close as she leans into it, breaking off after a few seconds, aware they are in public. She smiles, eyes blinking open.

“I’ll accept that.” She says approvingly, and Jo smiles, nodding as she leans back as resumes eating her hot dog, breaking their hand hold.

“So, I’ve got to kiss you every time you’re nice to me?” She says jokingly.

Yaz, feeling confident, captured by this day which feels almost dreamlike, wonderful, replies, “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

Jo’s lips quirk up into a smile around her mouthful of food. She taps the side of her head with a fingertip. “Noted.”

They eat in companionable silence for a while, and once she is finished and her soups is just dregs in the bottom of the bowl Yaz tips her head back and closes her eyes, breathing in the salt air and listening to the sound of waves crashing the shore. “I don’t think I’ve felt this relaxed in a long time.”

“Cornwall has that effect on the soul.” Jo agrees. After another moment she adds, “That’s why I wanted to bring you here. You deserve this, Yaz.”

“So do you.” Yaz says, open one eye to look at Jo.

“But this is a personal thank you from me.” Jo says, face determined as she leans forward across the table. Yaz tips her head back and blinks to clear her eyes and look at Jo. “For making me feel like a person again. For making me feel… like my old self, really.” She says with a slightly bashful laugh. She fiddles with the straw in her glass, and Yaz waits for her to find the words she wants to say. “You came to Kennock Cove and you treated me like anyone else. Most people… they think I’m a bit odd and that puts them off, I think. I’m the strange lady who lives in a shop storage room!” She says with a comical expression of terror on her face. She sobers up and adds, “And with the grief… it only made it worse because sometimes I’m more disconnected from everythin’, I just can’t see through a fog of…” She gesticulates around her head and trails off with a shrug. “It just all gets too much. But you… you were one of those people, like Grace, who had patience and no judgement, before you knew ‘bout River and after. You made me feel comfortable in myself, and so this is why I wanted to show you all these sights. I’m better with actions than words, when it comes to expressing ma feelings. This road trip? The necklace? This day? I’m showing how much I care for ya, Yaz.”

Yaz is incredibly touched, and she bows her head to swallow the tears which threaten in the corner of her eyes. She cannot think what to say, the connection from her brain to her mouth scrambled. Finally, she says, “Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“I do think you’re really odd.” Yaz says, and Jo laughs, head tipped back, a genuine sound. Yaz smiles. “But that’s why I…” She cuts herself off, swallowing. “… But that’s why I really, _really_ like you.”

Yaz keeps Jo’s thanks to her close to her heart, next to her encouragement, burrowing it away to keep her warm on cold nights. She reaches forwards and takes the other woman’s hand. “If that’s how you want to express your feelings between us, you can do that.” Yaz tells her. It feels good to be talking about this kind of thing, to be setting out the means through which boundaries and rules of how their newfound intimacy will work which will make them both comfortable. “This was _very_ romantic.”

“Was this smooth?” Jo asks, a delighted grin pulling at her lips. “Were I smooth for once?”

“This was very smooth.” Yaz confirms with her own grin. “I’m very impressed, and you want to know what I’m most impressed by?”

“What?”

“I don’t think anyone could be smooth in the same way. It’s so uniquely you, all of this.”

Jo smiles wistfully. “River used to like it when I took her out on trips.” She winces when she realises what she has just said, looking terribly aghast. “Yaz, m’sorry, that wasn’t very good of me to say.”

“S’alright.” Yaz replies. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about her. She was and is important to you and I don’t want you to think you have to hide that from me for my sake. My promise sticks, yeah?”

Jo shakes her head in astonishment. “You’re continuously amazin’ me, Yaz.”

Yaz ducks her head and lets out a small laugh, cheeks flushing. “I’ll tell you one thing though, mate.” She says, to lighten the air. “There is a time and a place.”

“Got it.” Jo nods seriously, head bobbing. “I’ll note that one, too.”

Yaz squeezes her hand and tries to emit how deeply moved she is by Jo’s trust in her and her confessions. “Thank you.” She says sincerely.

Jo’s eyes meet hers and they are hooded and intense and filled with fire. “I’d show you the universe if I could, Yaz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that first scene read alright: Yaz talking about the promotion was something I added in later as, within her character development, that was the best place i could think to put it, with her being bouyed by Jo's, essentially, worshipping her, but i do worry it reads clunky!  
> Also sorry they did not do the deed in this part lol- couldn't see these two suddenly throwing off their awkwardness to fly into it! But on that note, I'm not very good at writing sex scenes, and whether it would fit the tone of this story if i wrote an entire scene i was not certain, so... I have not written in detail their having sex- and i'm sure it's not actually a spoiler at this point in confirming they do- and have stuck really to the moments before and after with some description along the vein of everything else in this story for when they actually do it, so i hope no one is too disappointed it won't be full on... ya know! Just wanted to put this in as a head's up!
> 
> See you Thursday for Part Two!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at walker-lister, and i now have a twitter! it's @walkerlister1 - i have a grand total of zero followers and haven't been using it much but give me a follow or send me a dm i'd be happy to chat about this fic if you'd like that!


	18. Affinity (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments so far.... Enjoy this one... ;)

They are wandering along the coastal path which leads towards the car park, having taken one last view of Kynance Cove and a picture of the both of them which sits on Yaz’s phone like a precious jewel, and are chatting about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other’s conversation, Yaz swinging their hands between them as they walk.

Their conversation turns jokingly towards the people of Kennock Cove, and the target for most of their light-hearted criticism is Oscar.

“I still can’t figure out whether he loves me or hates me.” Jo says light-heartedly. “Thought it were just him reacting to _me_ at first, but…”

“Nah, I get the same vibe.” Yaz assures her. “Seemed he had a grudge on me before he even knew I existed.”

Jo laughs. “I remember when he tried to charge ya double for use of his bike. He always seems to be looking for something to mess with people.”

“And you came and helped me out.” Yaz says with a wry grin. “It were very gallant of ya.”

“I didn’t think ya needed my help, but I just couldn’t resist getting on his nerves.” Jo admits. “Is that bad of me? I’m not normally that mean. He just brings it out in me.”

Yaz shrugs. “He gives as good as he gets. And at the end of the day he is the one who catalyses a lot of the negativity that he gets, so…”

“Why is he in Kennock Cove, anyway? He seems very misplaced there.” Yaz thinks of his smart workwear and impeccably styled hair.

Jo scrunches her nose up as she thinks. “I think it were something to do with gettin’ fired from his job in London for gettin’ too angry all the time. They suggested he do somethin’ a bit more relaxin’.”

“Glad to see it’s working.” Yaz says sarcastically. Her minds turns over what she knows, and suddenly she has a thought. “This man has asked you out five times, so obviously he likes you.”

“Or he’s just determined.” Jo quips.

“So maybe being as mean and as rude as he is is the only way he knows how to express himself?” Yaz theorises. “Maybe it’s a cover up for how much he actually likes things. You.”

“Yaz, I’m confused, why are we talking ‘bout this?”

“I’m just trying to figure him out.” Yaz admits. “Because how can he be so cruel when he’s still asking ya out on dates?”

She remembers that morning after Jo’s accident on the rocks, when Oscar had swanned into Pond’s Pastries and made comments to Jo which only now can Yaz realise for their full cruelty; he had alluded to her following River into death, she clocks now, her free hand curls instinctively into a fist as the overwhelming desire to smack him one washes over her.

“Maybe…” Jo blows her breath out her cheeks, “And I’m just blue-sky thinkin’ here but… He knows ‘bout River, but he’s never used that knowledge to try and then understand how to go through with getting closer. He hasn’t tried to understand, not like you.”

Yaz nods. “That does make sense. But, can I add, he’s being particularly cruel ‘bout it. He’d better watch out next time he’s standing on that jetty as I might just push him off the side.”

Jo laughs. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout him, Yaz. Besides, Amy’s already done that before.”

“No!” Yaz says, turning to Jo mouth agape before bursting into peals of laughter.

“By accident, of course.” Jo says with a wink.

“Of course.” Jo winks back conspiratorially, but it is a few minutes before she can stop the giggles at the mental image she keeps conjuring in her mind.

They continue their leisurely stroll along the coastal path, hands linked together, not saying much, simply enjoying each other’s company. When they reach the small car park and the small information hut which sits there, Jo suddenly exclaims. “Oh! Yaz, look!”

She points to a small information board, pinned with many posters displaying information about the site and the local area. What has caught Jo’s attention in particular, however, is a poster advertising a dance in the nearby village of Mullion that evening, a dance promising live music and food and drink all for a small donation to the church fund.

“Shall we go?” Jo suggests. “Sounds brilliant!”

It does, and the thought of attending a dance event with Jo, getting dressed for a nice event, although it is only being held in the village hall, send her heart racing with excitement. “Alright, let’s do it!”

“Brilliant!” Jo says, taking a picture of the poster so that they have the information they need, before letting Yaz lead her towards their car.

“Is this going to be another surprise gesture?” Yaz teases. “That you’re suddenly going to be a really good dancer.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert but I’m a very good tap dancer in a crisis.” Jo says, tapping the bridge of her nose.

“No you’re not.” Yaz says suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Jo’s scrunches her face up. She shakes her head. “…. Nah. I’m not.” 

* * *

Yaz curses herself for not thinking to bring any nice clothes with her, having stuck mainly to jeans and t-shirts and hoodies, but in her defence she could not have known she and Jo would be attending a dance in a small Cornish village miles away from anyone else they know on a warm summer’s evening. She is wearing her nicest pair of black skinny jeans, the starry top she had worn on that first night in the pub, when everything had not gone as planned; she is wearing it now to rewrite that event. A chatter of voices comes from the brightly lit hall which glows like a beacon ahead of them, and Yaz looks to Jo, admiring the other woman in the low-light of the evening.

Jo is dressed in the nicest pair of culottes she had brought with her, a dark teal colour with a gold button at the clasp. She wears a white blouse cut close to her body, and Yaz’s heart had jumped in her chest at the sight of the other woman. Her necklace sits in the base of her throat. She takes a deep breath in as they stand outside the hall, and Yaz squeezes her hand.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” Jo says as she lets out a breath. “These people, they don’t know me, they don’t know you. We’re strangers here.” Jo remarks. She turns to Yaz with a small grin. “S’quite freein’.”

“Know what you mean.” Yaz says. “Felt like that when I first got to Kennock. Felt like a new adventure.”

“Well, would like another new adventure, Miss Khan?” Jo asks, and she offers Yaz her arm.

Yaz smiles. “Yes, I would, Doctor Smith.” She says and takes Jo’s arm and allows the other woman to lead her into the hall.

Festoon lighting hangs from the ceiling, crossing it in diagonal lines. The light is warm, inviting, and Yaz instantly feels at ease, despite the looks they are getting from villagers owing to their being completely unknown. Once they begin to move into the room, however, and Jo has dropped their small donation into a box on a small side table with a dashing smile which makes the woman sat at the table flush pink, they seem to ingratiate themselves with people. Soon they are being greeted with ‘good evening’s and ‘how are you’s, and they get caught in conversation with one couple who, Yaz thinks, are very intrigued and excited by the sight of two _women_ at a dance together.

Yaz does not know whether the assumption that they are a couple makes Jo uncomfortable or not, whether it sounds too _big_ after River, but if it does she does not show it, and going by the big smile on her face she is not displeased by it at all, caught up in the evening and the ambience. And so Yaz lets herself get swept away as well, drifting from the drinks table to the snack table and then, finally, to the dancefloor.

The band on the small stage at the end of the hall is playing a jaunty folk tune, the singer’s voice soft and almost ethereal in tone. Yaz feels like she could be in a fantasy world, whole other time and place. She lets Jo pull her onto the floor and then, it seems, the woman loses all sense of self-awareness and she begins twisting and moving, her hands clasping Yaz’s so that Yaz is forced to swing her arms too, and she finds that moving her body from side to side with a little less exertion than Jo does not hurt her ribs, so she falls into that rhythm, laughing at the woman in front of her, so incredibly fond.

They dance through a few more songs, and then they stop to grab a drink and to nibble at some sweet treats, Yaz having to hold Jo back from taking a third flapjack from the table, and then Jo is leading Yaz onto the dancefloor once again as a slower, crooning ballad begins to play, telling of a knight and his long lost lady.

Yaz and Jo come together, Jo’s arms around Yaz’s neck and Yaz’s hands on Jo’s hips, their faces incredibly close to each other, so close Yaz can see the individual flecks in her hazel eyes under the warm light. Yaz can smell Jo’s natural scent and the faint woody aroma of her perfume and she smiles, knocking their noses together briefly.

“Can’t believe we’re here.” She confesses.

“What? Mullion?” Jo asks her, and Yaz laughs, shaking her head.

“No. Here. Us. Together.” Yaz reiterates, and Jo’s mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as she understands Yaz’s meaning.

“You can believe it Yaz, it’s real.” She assures her. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she confesses. “I hadn’t realised how lonely I were, until you turned up and we started to do things together and text and…”

“I hadn’t realised how unhappy I was.” Yaz admits, honesty for honesty. “I’ve told you how happy you make me, and that was when I realised how _un_ happy I was before.”

“And you make _me_ happy, Yaz.” Jo insists, eyes creasing at the corners as she smiles. “Happy and less alone. Happier because I _am_ less alone.” Her tone turns sadder, a fleeting smile on her lips. “Never done well on me own me.” She says with a soft sigh, and Yaz’s heart clenches to think of all Jo has been through, not only with River, but with the scant information Yaz knows about her childhood in foster care too. Now is not the time to discuss such things, and Yaz does not want to ruin the atmosphere of the evening, but she hopes that Jo might open up to her about it, so that she might feel less alone with that information. So that Yaz might be able to help her with it.

“I’m here now.” Yaz says, voice barely a whisper, barely carrying above the music surrounding them.

They share a soft kiss, a brush of their lips against each other. Jo sucks in a shaky breath when they pull apart, and the arms around Yaz’s neck tighten. “All feels like some kind of dream. Like we’re in a legend, like King Arthur. I’ll be sleepin’ and soon… M’gonna wake up.”

“I’m here, Jo.” Yaz says. “And you’re wide awake.”

“Yes, you are here.” Jo says, and there is a different undertone to her voice when she says it, something which thrums like a guitar string that has just been plucked. It quickens Yaz’s pulse, and she looks inquisitively into Jo’s eyes, wondering whether she has heart that string’s note right. At the cautious but desiring look in Jo’s eyes, she understands that she has, and she quirks an eyebrow, nervous and excited all at once. A day spent together has obviously boosted both of their confidence. So, when Jo asks, “Yaz, do you wanna…?”, Yaz replies a little breathily, “Let’s get out of here.” 

* * *

They burst through the door of their attic room, hands trailing over bodies and mouths pressed close together, breaking apart only for short sharp intakes of breaths. They giggle under their breaths as the door slams shut behind them, Jo shushing Yaz as the other woman presses kisses to her neck. Yaz looks up at Jo out of the corner of her eye as she watches the other woman’s head tip back, mouth open and breathing heavily as Yaz teases at the sensitive spots on her neck. How many times had she looked at this woman and thought what it might be like to touch her like this?

Now she is here, it is even better than she had imagined.

They remain leaning against the door for a moment, Yaz drawing small gasps from Jo, the other woman pliant under her ministrations. Yaz feels nerves settle at the edges of the desire, aware that they will soon be moving this to the bed and Yaz will be expected to be able to perform. However, when she hears the sounds Jo makes and feels her skin under her lips, she finds her confidence growing. Jo is obviously not holding back in front of her, and Yaz feels boosted, understanding that they are equals in this situation, both figuring this, between them, out for the first time.

“Do you want to move this to the bed?” Yaz asks once Jo is practically collapsing against the door. The other woman nods and allows Yaz to lead her over to the bed, taking charge. When Yaz looks down and sees her lain out before her on the bed, she feels an overwhelming urge to take care of this woman, laid open and vulnerable in front of her, trusting her with this, and she leans down over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before saying, “Tell me if there’s anythin’ you don’t want to do. Anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“Okay.” Jo says with a nod. Her hands comes up to play with the baby hairs at Yaz’s neck. “And you, yeah? Let me know if you want me to…” She trails off shrugging. Yaz nods, and presses a kiss to Jo’s neck, making the other woman gasp.

“Right now, I think we should get these layers off.” Yaz says, a whisper over Jo’s skin, bringing her out in goose-bumps.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Jo says with a smile. Yaz sets to work on unbuttoning Jo’s blouse whilst the other woman works her fingers on Yaz’s blouse. Jo raises up to allow Yaz to pull it from her shoulders and arms, but before she does, she stops Yaz with a hand on her wrist. “Yaz, before you take it off… I have some scars, on my arm. From the accident.”

“Okay.” Yaz says with a nod. It is at that moment that she realises she has never seen Jo without a long-sleeve top on covering her arms. “You don’t mind me seeing?”

Jo looks up at her for a long minute, eyes dilating, hazel iris being consumed by black pupil. “No. _You_ can see them.”

Yaz makes reverent work of pulling Jo’s top gently from her body, and when the offending arm is revealed, and the jagged lines which decorate it stand in stark contrast to the rest of her skin, shiny and reddened where the rest is soft and paler in hue, Yaz very carefully takes the arm in her hands, and raises it to her lips. “May I?”

Jo nods, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Yaz brings her lips to the arm and presses delicate kisses over the scars, tracing their path with her lips. Jo lets out a cry which sounds suspiciously like a sob and Yaz stops, looking up at the other woman. She sees two tears leave closed eyes and she shuffles up the bed at bit more, unbuttoned shirt billowing open. She places a hand gently on Jo’s cheek, coaxing her to open her eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jo sniffs, a hand darting up to wipe the tears away. “I haven’t, I’m not… I’m not alone anymore.” Her breath catches on a cry on the word ‘anymore.’ Yaz’s heart clenches in her chest, and her affection soars higher than she thought possible.

“No, you’re not.” Yaz affirms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Will you let me show you how much I care for you?”

Jo nods, and then laughs, cheeks flushed red slightly with embarrassment. “Yeah. Sorry, s’not very romantic, is it?”

“S’okay.” Yaz says with a small smile. “This is already way better than anything I did with Clara.”

“Really?” Jo says, sounding sceptical.

“Yeah.” Yaz says. “Because it’s you.”

Jo beams at that, and she watches with rapture as Yaz leans up and shrugs her blouse off her body, throwing it to join Jo’s on the floor. Her hands trails lightly over Yaz’s abs, and it is at that moment Yaz is extremely glad policework keeps her physically fit, as her muscles are toned in a way that, when she looks at Jo’s face, must be very appealing.

“God, Yaz, you’re incredible.” Jo breathes. Her hands trail upwards, to Yaz’s bra, and she raises and eyebrow. Yaz laughs and reaches behind her to undo the clasp at the back, and the bra comes away from her, destined for the floor. Jo’s breath catches, and Yaz smiles, feeling herself loved and appreciated.

Trousers come off, and then Jo is raising her upper body from the bed to allow Yaz to undo her bra, and the moment it is gone Yaz presses kisses between her breasts, teasing Jo and drawing out her pleasure before focussing on her breasts and nipples. The sounds she coaxes from Jo’s mouth are guttural moans of pleasure, and Yaz is glad they are squirreled away in the attic, strangely grateful for their hostess’s foresight.

Yaz works her way down Jo’s body, making the other woman feel wanted, cherished. When she reaches her bottom half, and the cotton underwear which preserves her dignity, she looks up at her and asks, “Can I?”

Jo nods, and Yaz peels her underwear away from her.

“And you.” Jo says, and Yaz happily complies, all thoughts of embarrassment lost in the moment, each of them too wrapped up in seeing each other, all of each other, for the first time, in finally knowing each other fully.

When they are both fully naked, time blurs into a miasma of pleasure and soaring happiness, of warm bodies and lingering touches, soft and hard and all meant to draw the most from each other as they can. Lips press against sensitive areas, and Yaz curses her ribs for not allowing her more flexibility, but Jo more than makes up for it on her own.

Yaz is seeing stars in the corner of her eyes and her chest is heaving by the time they come down from their cloud and back to the real world. She slumps onto the bed next to Jo, hair fanning around them both, and her fingers trail over her ribs subconsciously, easing the slight twinge of pain. It was worth it, though, for what they had just done.

“That was, that was…” Jo says, for once lost for words. her pale skin glistens in the low-light of the bedroom, the pair of them only lit my moonlight coming in through the dormer window. Yaz reaches behind her and switches on the lamp on the bedside table, making the room feel cosier and warmer. Now that they have come down from their high, Yaz finds herself beginning to shiver. Jo must notice, as a soft hand touches Yaz’s cheek and she says. “Let’s get under the covers.”

Jo lifts up the sheets and they crawl under, still naked, and Yaz envelops Jo in her arms, feeling buoyed and overjoyed that she has managed to make Jo so happy. Jo presses a soft kiss to Yaz’s shoulder before nuzzling into her neck, sighing. “This is the best day I’ve had in… in a long time.”

Yaz smiles, caught between sadness and joy. It pains her so much that this wonderful woman has had to face so much pain, and that this is the best day she has had since that fateful day where her world changed forever, but she is also so overjoyed she could be the one to give such a gift to her, to remind her how good life can be sometimes. And Jo has done the same for Yaz, too. She has reminded her what it feels like to feel valued in her place in the universe, to live in that universe. And with the universe by her side.

“Yeah.” Yaz agrees with Jo, pulling her closer into her hold. “Me too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this one- Jo and Yaz certainly did ;)  
> I'm jazzed because I've just booked to go away a few days next month to Cornwall! And in the same area I based this story on so woop woop! If I watch a sunset i'll definitely take a picture!  
> See you on Sunday :D 
> 
> Tumblr: Walker-Lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	19. Past and Future (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments so far! This chapter really was just a process of me splitting it in half so I hope you feel like you get some good content in this one!
> 
> We're meeting a familiar friend this time!

They are nearing Penzance, and Yaz watches Jo out the corner of her eye as the other woman concentrates on the map app on her phone, small furrow on her brow which Yaz finds most attractive. She wants to reach out and touch it, explore another part of Jo’s body, of her being, but she has to turn her eyes back to the road ahead.

Yesterday had been…. Everything and more. It had been dreamlike, a fantasy, and Yaz knows she will cherish the memory of it for the rest of her life; just her and Jo and the affection flowing between them like a gentle river carrying them closer together. There were no worries, no troubles, and for the first time it had felt as if River sat to the side of them instead of in between them, not forgotten, but not intrusive, either.

They had set off that morning, later than they should have, having had an impromptu lie in after the night before. Yaz smiles at the memory of what they had done after returning from the dance in Mullion, what they had come very close to repeating that morning until the late hour and Jackie’s concerned knocking at the door had forced them out of the bed and on their way (Jo had thanked the woman profusely and told her that she had enjoyed Trevor’s surprise very much, but Yaz’s surprise was much better, leaving without further ado, Yaz following on behind her, spluttering and bright red in the face of a smirking Jackie).

Yaz spares Jo once more glance before she turns her attention to the road ahead of them. The woman has seemed genuinely happy these past two days, the relief both had felt at having finally made the jump casting a soothing spell over them. However, Jo has seemed even more peppy than she normally is, or at least, that she appears to be. It has made Yaz realise how it had seemed there was something lingering, before, just out of sight, a spectre Yaz could not quite see drifting at Jo’s shoulder at all times, and although that shadow is still there, Yaz is not disillusioned and understands that there might always be that part to Jo, it is haunting her less now. The car has been less of a problem for her as well, and whilst there have been a couple of occasions in which she has asked Yaz to pull over for a moment for her to clear her head of incoming anxiety, she has admitted that having Yaz there is a big distraction, and focussing on giving directions has also benefitted her ability to face her demons. There is a stark honesty to the joy in her eyes which takes Yaz’s breath away, and she sends a mental message to River, wherever she may be, dancing among the stars, maybe, that she will take care of Jo to the best of her ability.

“Yaz?”

Yaz jumps when Jo calls her name, too caught up in determining her newfound conviction, and she turns to the woman with a ‘hmm?’

“Turn left up ‘ere.” Jo directs, pointing to a turning coming up. Yaz hurriedly switches her indicator on and makes the turn.

“Sorry. Was thinkin’.” She says bashfully.

“’Bout?” Jo asks, pushing her glasses further up her nose. She has run out of contacts, having not planned for a longer trip, but secretly Yaz is delighted to see her wearing her glasses; somehow, they make her even more irresistible. 

“Where we’re gonna sleep tonight.” Yaz says, keeping the truth to herself; she is living in the moment, after all.

Jo brushes her off. “We’ll find somewhere. I’ll turn the oddness off and the charm on. I’m good at charming people, me.”

“Not sure I’d call it ‘charm’.” Yaz counters with a raised eyebrow.

“Just because you didn’t need me to say a word before you fell head over heels.” Jo teases lightly. It is fun to banter with her like this; it is similar to their friendly banter, but with an added element of affection, a rose-tinged element added to the mixture.

Thinking of how their interactions have developed causes Yaz’s thoughts to turn to the bigger picture. She knows they should talk more about what they are, what _this is;_ having scaled this mountain and reached the precipice, it is too important to her to not want to be able to understand how things will play out in the long run. However, the idea of it is daunting, and she bites the inside of her cheek at the thought that she will have to return to Sheffield, in a mere few weeks. Should she bring this up with Jo so soon after their newfound intimacy? Or should she allow them these few days away from everything and everyone else to just enjoy finally being _together?_

Indignation rises in Yaz as she thinks, _this whole holiday I’ve been told to relax and see where things take me, so that’s what I am going do. I’m going to spend the next few days with Jo and just let events take their course. Let that current that has set us together carry us along with no interference. I just want to be with her. She makes me happy and I want to make her happy. Why can’t we just have that?_

“Yaz? Yaz! Right _here!_ ” Jo calls, and Yaz jumps to attention again, hurriedly turning right. She mutters an apology, putting her thoughts to rest for now.

“You feelin’ alright?” Jo asks her, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Yaz assures her. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout things.”

“Oh?” Jo says. “We can chat about it, if you want?”

“Don’t worry, s’nothing bad.” Yaz reassures her. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout you, actually.”

“Nothin’ bad I hope.” Jo says, an undercurrent of worry in her voice which makes Yaz take her hand off the gear stick for a moment to squeeze Jo’s arm.

“No. Just looking forward to another day relaxin’ with you.”

“No worries? No problems?” Jo asks, sounding like she needs confirmation from Yaz. Ironically, Yaz feels the same.

“Precisely.” She affirms.

Yaz buries her worries and doubts, which scream too much from her logical and rational side than she would like the admit, and simply follows the directions Jo gives her. 

* * *

“There’s so much in this area for us to explore, Yaz!” Jo is saying animatedly as they leave the car behind them in the visitor car park of Penzance city centre having, perhaps foolishly, decided to leave finding somewhere to stay until a little later in the day, wanting to make the most of the midday weather. Yaz can feel the heat of the pavement under the thin soles of her shoes, and she had rather enjoyed slathering sun cream on Jo’s pasty neck and face in the car, the woman still wearing long sleeves despite the weather and Yaz’s knowledge of the scars that lie beneath; she was not ready to bare them yet, which Yaz respected. “St Michael’s Mount is near here, although we might have missed the time for getting across to it. M’not sure, but ya can only access it at certain times as it’s a small island just off the coast and the pathway gets covered by the tide at certain times.”

“Don’t want to get stuck on there for the night.” Yaz jokes.

“I don’t know Yaz, could be quite the adventure.” Jo says with raised eyebrows, mouth open in excitement. “They have a castle. We could stay in the castle!”

“Think we might be getting ahead of ourselves.” Yaz says, and laughs when Jo scrunches her nose up and closes her mouth with an audible click.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry. So, where were we? Oh yeah! There’s also Minack theatre, that’s not far from here! It’s an outside theatre so perhaps we could look into seeing a show- although they might be sold out seeing as it’s the summer season. Hmm, should have planned this a bit better, shouldn’t I? But what’s the point of an adventure if you know what’s coming?”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Yaz reassures her. “I’m more than happy just to stroll around the town and the seafront or beach.”

Jo nods, and then she brightens up again. “Oh! I just remembered! They’ve got a pilchard museum.”

Yaz looks at her. “You can’t be serious?”

“Yes.” Jo says deadpan. “It’s all really fascinating once you get into it….” Jo babbles on and Yaz lets her, feeling slightly guilty as she tunes out pilchard talk and concentrates on the feel of the sun on her face and Jo’s hand in hers.

It is only when there is a sudden break in speech that Yaz looks to Jo. They have come to a stop at a set of traffic lights, waiting for their turn to cross, and Yaz looks at Jo, confused to see the other woman staring intensely at something on the other side of the road. Yaz follows her gaze with her own, but she sees nothing of consequence, only other pedestrians, all hot and bothered from the weather.

“Jo?” She prompts, and the other woman jumps, turning to Yaz with a ‘hmm?’ “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, thought I saw somethin’.” She says, eyes flicking over to that spot again before resting on Yaz. “What were I sayin’ again?”

“Pilchards.” Yaz prompts her.

“Ah! Yes, pilchards! Did you know they’re traditionally used in what is called ‘Stargazy pie’? It were created not far from here. The important thing about this pie is that the fish’s head needs to be poking out from the pastry. They skin it, debone it, and then display its head like it’s popping out of the pie. Sounds a bit nasty to eat, admittedly. The eye’s all squishy.”

Yaz smiles politely at the shocked father stood next to them, and tries not to wince as she sees the man gather his young child close to him, the infant’s face scrunched in horror, having overheard Jo’s ‘fun fact’. She is glad when the crossing turns green and she can lead Jo away from them and in the completely opposite direction.

Penzance reminds her, to a large extent, of Falmouth, in that it is a larger town and harbour which has developed to cater to tourists as much as it retains its Cornish routes and charm. The seafront is large and obviously used for both leisure and work, many trawlers and boats ready for fishing docked, as well as some smarter looking sailboats and yachts, their sails fluttering proudly in the light summer breeze. They wander along the front for a while before deciding to cut across and up a street into the town in search of somewhere to eat.

They are on their way back along the seafront, to the Pilchard Museum (Yaz is indulging Jo), when they spot it. A group of people of all ages are clustered on the promenade, in a large space which allows gatherings off of the main pavement, holding placards and shouting their agenda as loud as they can. They are handing out leaflets to passers-by, and most take them with a nod of thanks. Yaz notices that there is one member of their group, a man with a snow-white beard to match his head of neatly cropped hair, who seems to be the ringleader. He stands on a small make-shift stage which appears to be constructed from a few wooden boxes, and is holding a megaphone, shouting their agenda.

“Stop unnecessary journeys! You want to kill this world for your children? Your grandchildren? Then you keep making those unnecessary journeys and they won’t have a world to enjoy!”

“Good for them.” Jo comments as she and Yaz come to a stop a few feet from the group, simply watching them for a moment. Yaz can read the placards at this distance, and they all say something along the lines of, ‘Stop air pollution’, ‘There is no planet B’, ‘We are killing the planet!’

“I’ve had quite a few of these protests when I’ve been on duty.” Yaz says. “I always try and protect them from abuse as much as I can.”

At that moment a man of about middle age strides up to the group and evaluates them with a disdainful glare. He looks the old man on the podium up and down, lip curled.

“Just use ATMOS, mate.” He shouts.

The old man turns to him, apparently glad to have someone to interact with. “Now don’t you go trusting that lot!” He protests, still speaking through the megaphone. “They’re as bad as the others. Saxon can’t be trusted as far as you could throw him!”

The man waves him off with an aggressive hand gesture. Yaz tenses. “What more d’ya want, mate? They’re trying to save your precious planet!”

“It’s your planet too, mate, and your children and grandchildren, if you have ‘em. But even if you don’t you should feel a weight of accountability. Saxon’s efforts aren’t efforts, they’re political moves to make him look better!”

“Ah, sod off! S’pathetic!” The man says. “You old codger, what do you care, you’ll be dead before any of this apocoliptic shit happens!”

“What did you just say to me?” The old man asks, offended, lowering his megaphone.

“I said you’ll be dead before you can do anything to stop it!” The man points an accusing finger at the older man. With a harsh laugh he adds, “You won’t be around to see me make my unnecessary journeys!”

“Oh, you little-” The old man makes to move off of the stage, other members of his group crowding him and encouraging him to stop. He is not who Yaz is worried about, however, and before she knows she is doing it, she is stepping forwards towards the middle aged man, who is peering over the crowd trying to spot the older man. When that fails, he spits at the protestors’ feet, muttering insults and curse words.

“I think that’s enough of that!” Jo says from Yaz’s side, the other woman putting her body between the man and the protesters.

“S’alright everybody, now keep calm.” Yaz says in a loud but calm voice. Authoritative. She feels that now familiar steely determination settle over her.

“Who the hell are you?” The man spits at Yaz.

“I’m someone who wants to help.” She replies. “There is no good in being aggressive, it will not get your point across any better. You need to respect their right to protest, and whilst you are also within your rights to disagree, let’s do so in a calm and respectful manner, yeah?”

Yaz is aware that the protesters behind her have stopped to watch, and of Jo hovering close behind her, but she keeps her focus on emitting a calm and reasonable manner with the man in front of her.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” He spits, and Yaz knows she’s got him, caught him out. She is not surprised he is now retaliating with ferocity born of embarrassment at having been caught out.

“I’m PC Khan of Hallamshire Police, Sheffield. I’m off duty right now but I’m appealing to you, person to person, and I’m asking you to be respectful of this protest, okay?”

“Bloody do-gooders.” The man says, shaking his head, and whilst it is not an agreement, Yaz can tell the man is backing down. He looks at the crowd disdainfully, eyes skating over Jo and Yaz before she shakes his head. “Whole lot of ya. Snowflakes.”

“Actually, snowflakes are incredibly durable and in large numbers can form incredibly strong physical mass.” Jo butts in with a raised finger. “So, when people use snowflake to describe someone as weak, especially a group of people, they are in fact contradicting themselves.”

Yaz is caught between admiration and irritation, seriously hoping Jo has not aggravated the man any more than he already is, no matter how funny the comment was. She braces as the man looks Jo up and down, takes in her culottes and her striped top and her black-rimmed glasses. Finally, he scoffs, and Yaz’s muscles tense, preparing to intervene if he dares make a move towards Jo. Luckily, however, he sees the look in Yaz’s eyes and backs off, grumbling and muttering under his breath still as he swaggers away. Yaz lets out a long breath. She turns to Jo. “That was fun.”

Before she is aware what is happening, Jo has captured her in a kiss, and Yaz splutters when they break apart, blinking against the sudden movement. “What were that for?”

“You were amazin’, Yaz!” Jo cries. “You’re so brilliant!”

Yaz laughs, feeling like a teenager having been complimented by their crush. She shrugs. “It’s what I do.”

“It is, and you’re fantastic at it!” Jo says. Her hands are on Yaz’s arms, her hazel eyes staring deep into Jo’s. “I don’t see someone struggling with their job at all.”

Yaz is not sure what to say, once again caught in that confusion which had gripped her after her eventful day in Wadebridge. She tries for a smile, but it must be weak, as that small dip in Jo’s brow appears. Before she can say anything, however, the old man comes bustling towards them through the crowd and imposes into their space with a kind smile.

“I can thank you two enough, I thought clear as day he was going to sock me one then.” The old man says, shaking both of their hands. “Not that I would have let him!”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to thank us.” Yaz says with a smile.

The man waves her modesty away. “Ah, I know I don’t need to thank you, but I want to!”

“It’s Yaz you should thank.” Jo says with a smile. “I were just sticking my big nose in.”

“Well, thank you, Yaz!” The man says, still shaking Yaz’s hand and increasing the ferociousness of the movement so that Yaz’s whole arm seems to shake. “Wouldn’t have had that attitude in the army, he needs bringing to order.”

“Oh you were in the army?” Yaz asks politely. Finally, the man releases her hand.

“I was indeed. Private Wilfred Mott. You can just call me Wilf.” He says.

“Yasmin Khan. Or Yaz, if you prefer.” Yaz says, properly introducing herself. She points to Jo. “And this is Joanne Smith. Sorry, _Doctor_ Joanne Smith.”

“Just Jo’s fine.” Jo says with a polite smile, hands clasped in front of her.

“A doctor?” Wilf says with admiration, looking Jo up and down.

“Not of medicine. Of astrophysics. Although I could give it a go.” Jo says, scrunching her nose up.

“Astrophysics?” Wilf says with excitement. “What like studying space and all that?”

Jo shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh, I love all that stuff!” Wilf says. He glances behind him at his crowd and then down at the watch on his wrist. “This might be a bit forward of me, but would you like to have tea? My humble abode isn’t far from here and I have a telescope I think you might be interested in. We were just finishing up here anyway.”

Jo looks delighted, all thoughts of the pilchard museum forgotten, and there is no way Yaz can say no to that face, so she nods, accepting Wilf’s invitation with thanks.

They bid the group of protesters farewell, all of them waving Wilf off with a cheer. The man makes a show of doing a small little dance for them as they go, and Yaz cannot help but laugh at the man’s jolly demeanour. She has no problem trusting him as he leads the way back to his cottage, and she can see that Jo is just as curious as her at this new adventure.

They leave the city centre, and the walk is longer than Yaz was anticipating and she admires how physically fit Wilf seems to be as he strides confidently onwards. Yaz is aware they are trailing even further from the car, but she tries not to worry.

Finally, they reach Wilf’s home. It is an old affair at the end of a road which looks out over Penzance and the sea beyond, constructed of slate and old stone, and looking incredibly cosy.

“Used to belong to the fishermen who made our pilchard’s famous.” Wilf says, and as he leads them inside Yaz spots the cottage’s name, engraved on a slate panel: ‘Pilchard Cottage’.

Jo gasps when she sees it and Yaz has to stifle a laugh.

The inside is as cosy as Yaz expects, the front door leading directly into the living room, a kitchen just beyond and stairs to the second floor to the right. It is old-fashioned in the design of the furniture and the wallpaper on the walls, but there is an orderliness and a cleanliness to it which speak of Wilf’s army days, and Yaz politely wipes her feet on the doormat.

“I trust you ladies like tea?” Wilf says as he wanders into the kitchen, reaching for the kettle.

“Love it.” Jo confirms. She puts her hands in her pockets and wanders around the front room, inspecting Wilf’s possessions. She spots some photographs on the mantelpiece. “Do you live alone Wilf?”

The question is a little straight-forward for someone they met barely an hour ago, and Yaz winces. Wilf, however, does not seem to mind it, and he pokes his head around the doorframe. “Yes, I do now. Used to be married to my Eileen, but she’s dead now.”

Jo looks sympathetically, understanding. “I’m sorry.” She says sincerely.

“We had a good life together, more than some get.” Wilf replies, and Yaz watches Jo’s face twitch before she gives him a polite close-lipped smile. Yaz shoots her a smile of her own, which Jo returns.

They sit down at the small oak table in Wilf’s kitchen for tea, and from there Yaz can see one can access the garden through a small conservatory. The garden climbs up a hill, a pathway snaking through three levels, and on the top, she spots a small building, and outside of it a large telescope.

“You were very brave, standing up to that man like that.” Wilf says to Yaz as he lays out a plate of biscuits in front of them before shuffling into his seat. Yaz sees Jo slip a custard cream from the plate and into her mouth.

Yaz shrugs. “I’ve dealt with worse. People who think that they can act in a certain way because they’re intimidating are really the easiest to disarm if you know how.”

“You said you were a police officer?” Wilf asks, and at Yaz’s nods he adds, “In Sheffield?”

“Yes,” Yaz says, and she lets the word hang there, as if she wants to add something else, but she is not sure what.

“That must be a demanding job.” Wilf says.

“It is.” Yaz admits. “And it grinds you down. S’why I’m here. Taking a break for a bit to work out what I’m doing.”

“Well, if you police the streets with an attitude like the one you had today then Sheffield will be a safer place for it.” Wilf compliments her.

Yaz cannot help but scoff. “You tell the people of Sheffield that.”

“Well, are you going to let them get the better of you?” Wilf asks her. “You showed that man today who was boss.”

Yaz bites her lip. She does not want to swamp this stranger with the worries that have been plaguing her for months now, which have come into sharper relief since her relationship with Jo has progressed and she had come to the realisation that she was just not happy in Sheffield in anymore. Wilf, however, seems genuinely interested, and Yaz relents. “It weren’t so much that I was doing bad in my job.” She pushes away thoughts of that poor woman and that her abuser might possibly be free in a matter of days; that case had been the one to tip her over the edge, a terrible anomaly. Her growing suspicions about the promotion egg her on. “… It were more like I didn’t feel seen, respected by my boss. I just missed a promotion that I thought was in the bag. Basically felt like I’d come to a complete standstill. S’why I’m here. I needed a break from it all.”

“Well when you go back I think it’d do you well to remind them just how valuable you are. You love your job, yes?” Yaz nods. Wilf continues, “And you love Sheffield? It’s your home?”

“Yes, my childhood home.” Yaz says. She longs to add that it does not feel particularly like home at this moment in time, but she is wary of offending the man when he is giving her this advice, and if she remembers her promise to herself to simply live in the moment this day; this conversation is already skating too close to the boundary of that.

“Then don’t let them hold you back! You seem a very capable young lady, Yaz, and I know I’ve only known you an hour, but I’ve got a mind and a lifetime of experience behind me. Trust me, I don’t see the drive you have in people that often. I think you’re strong enough to re-write the bad times and replace them with new memories and reclaim the place you were happy.”

Yaz smiles, and her gaze travels to Jo, who is looking at her strangely, caught between happiness and sadness. Yaz frowns at her, asking what is wrong with just a look. Jo shakes her head, hiding her eyes in her teacup. Yaz takes a sip of her own, her brain darting after a hundred thoughts, a hundred feelings.

Conversation turns towards their host, and Yaz feels a tinge of sadness for Wilf begin to colour her picture of him; the man obviously has many friends, if the group of protestors is anything to go by, but there is something in the eagerness with which he had invited them here, and with which he now relates his life story to them which speaks of loneliness.

“…. And my granddaughter- actually, she’s a police officer, too.”

“Hang on…” Yaz says suddenly, taking in Wilf’s accent and the tea towel hung over a cupboard handle behind him which reads ‘Essex’ and has a cartoon drawing of the county. “She’s not a sergeant in Wadebridge, is she?”

“Why, yes, yes she is.” Wilf says with surprise. He shifts in his seat.

“Donna Noble?” Yaz says, and the man’s face brightens.

“That’s the one! How d’you know my Donna?”

“I helped her out a few weeks ago with an incident.” Yaz explains. “She gave me her card.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve made a difference down here, Yaz.” Wilf says. “And if my Donna is giving you her card that means she likes you. Trust me.”

Yaz laughs and pushes down that strange feeling in her chest that another person believes that she has and could make a difference down here. It is a big and intimidating thought, and Yaz pushes it to the side to think about later, desperate to stay in this moment, this pleasant afternoon with this old man and Jo, sitting across from her, her gaze barely leaving Yaz’s face. 

“Brilliant girl, my Donna.” Wilf says. “My pride and joy. Where’s your family, Yaz?”

“Back in Sheffield.” Yaz replies. “My mum and dad, and my sister, Sonya.”

“You looking forward to seeing them again?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” Yaz says, and she is not lying. Only…. The thought of going back to Sheffield fills her with dread. She shifts in her chair. “I’ll be really sad to leave here, though.”

She glances at Jo, who glances back, fingers fiddling with a custard cream. There is too much to say which cannot be said through eye contact, but Yaz desperately hopes her eyes are communicating how honestly wrought by the situation she is; she did not want to think about this today, she hates the expression on Jo’s face.

“’Course ya will.” Wilf says. “Beautiful place Cornwall. Why so many call it home.” He looks to Jo. “Do you call it home, Jo?”

“Err… yeah, yes.” Jo replies, clearing her throat. Yaz realises she has been uncharacteristically quiet. “Bit like Yaz, I used to live in Sheffield.”

“Why did you move?” Wilf asks.

Yaz is surprised when Jo admits, “My wife died.”

“Oh,” Wilf’s surprise is evident on his face. “My goodness, I am sorry.” 

Jo shrugs, scratching at her nose. Her eyes trail across the table before landing on Yaz. “Yaz is great, though, Yaz is… brilliant.”

“Oh! Are you two…?” Wilf says, indicating between the two of them. Yaz looks at Jo and Jo looks at Yaz and neither one knows quite how to define their relationship, as new and delicate as it is. Finally, Yaz says, “I really, _really_ like her.”

Jo smiles, and something in Yaz’s chest catches at the sight, something which sings both like a clanging alarm bell and a sweet harmony at the same time. She realises in that moment that she does not ever want to let Jo go, that Jo is more of home to her now than Sheffield has felt for a long, long time.

_I don’t just feel happy when I’m with her,_ she realises, _I feel like I’m home._

She has to sit up at that thought, feeling suddenly dizzy, and she grips tightly to the edge of the table, breathing deeply to clear her head.

“Oh, ‘really, really like’, that’s good, that’s very good.” Wilf says. “That’s marvellous. How’s that going to work when you go back to Sheffield, then, Yaz, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Oh Allah, Yaz really does mind, but it would be impolite for her not to answer. “We… haven’t talked about that yet.”

“Oh, sorry, don’t mind me. Just put my foot in it, haven’t I?” Wilf says, embarrassed. Yaz immediately feels guilty for making him feel that way.

“S’alright. We’re just… making the most of each other’s company, aren’t we?” She says, looking to Jo, who nods, that polite close-lipped smile on her face once again. Yaz’s stomach clenches.

“Well, that’s brilliant, that is. You’ve both got all that going on, you know, and yet you still managed to find each other and find this happiness in each other.” Wilf says, and his fingers traces the air between the two of them, binding them with invisible thread. “Proper old-fashioned romance.”

Yaz glances to Jo and sees the softness in her eyes at the term ‘old-fashioned romance’ and she returns it with her own smile. She feels like she is on surer ground, now, with talks of romance and beating the odds instead of being pummelled mercilessly under the pressure of life and time.

“That’s lovely, that really is.” Wilf says, nodding as he takes a sip of tea, watching them with warm eyes. After a rather pregnant silence he turns to Jo and asks, “And what about you, Jo? You got any family?”

Yaz watches Jo hesitate before replying. She reaches under the table and takes her hand.

“No. Never knew my parents, me. Foster kid.”

“Oh.” Wilf looks aggrieved, and he shifts in his seat once more, hands tapping anxiously against the tabletop. “Oh, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Gone and put my foot in it.”

“It’s fine, Wilf, please don’t worry.” Jo says shrugging. Her face is tightly drawn, and Yaz narrows her eyes, unconvinced by her words. “I’ve made family elsewhere. Used to it, me. Taking what I can get, bits and pieces here.”

“What am I? A bit or a piece?” Yaz says jokingly to try and lighten the mood and take the pressure off of Jo and covering her own sadness in the process. She and Jo have not spoken much of the other woman’s childhood, and this is the most Jo has revealed since she first admitted to her experiences weeks ago.

The other woman, however, does not pick up on it, which Yaz should have expected, and instead answers, deathly serious, “You’re more than just bits and pieces, Yaz. You’re….” She trails off, her mouth forming around a silent word cut off before it can be finished.

“I was joking.” Yaz says to her, squeezing her hand under the table, and Jo makes and ‘o’ shape of her mouth and nods.

“Ah, well, that’s good, that’s brilliant.” Wilf says with a nod, looking slightly better about the situation. “Hold onto the ones you love, let them know you care.”

In order to take the pressure off of Jo, Yaz asks Wilf, “Did Donna transfer here because you were already in Cornwall?”

“Oh, no I moved afterwards.” Wilf says, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on the table. “Couldn’t stand to be far from her, but far enough it doesn’t feel like I’m bothering her. Wanted her to go, though, didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t move away if she wanted to, but… well, it gave me an excuse to make a change. Couldn’t have picked a nicer place. My Donna… She’s brilliant, she is… if she moved to live among the stars I’d follow her.”

Yaz smiles at that, genuinely touched by this man and his life story. It enamours her towards Donna Noble, as well, the woman’s strong personality having already appealed to Yaz’s nature. 

“I don’t think I’d mind if you were my grandfather and you followed me down here.” Jo says wistfully, genuinely, in one of those moments when she forgets tactful speech and simply says what she thinks. However, Yaz does not think it is inappropriate this time, and there is a sadness in Jo’s eyes which clenches at her heart.

Wilf must see it too, as his expression wobbles, and his hand uncurls on the table as if to reach for Jo. He says, “Well, why don’t I show you my telescope?”

They trail out into the garden, the harsh cawing of seagulls instantly audible as they circle above them. Wilf shakes his head and curses the birds, muttering about them ruining his vegetable beds. Yaz spots them as they snake their way up the garden path until they reach Wilf’s telescope.

She is happy to stand back and watch Jo admire the telescope as Wilf talks her through it, the two of them immediately jumping into a conversation about what constellations and planets are visible from their position.

“’Course it’s easier to see at night, but I suppose you two have got something planned.” Wilf says.

“We don’t actually.” Jo replies. “Don’t even have anywhere to stay yet. We should probably get on that…”

“Nowhere to stay?” Wilf repeats. “Well, you don’t have to accept but you could always take my annexe. It’s for my daughter or for Donna when they visit. Free of charge of course.”

Wilf points and Yaz follows his finger to the small out-building she had noticed earlier which stands just behind them. it is of the same build as Wilf’s cottage, all old stone and flint, but it looks clean, the small windows shining in the afternoon sunlight.

“It’s got all the facilities you need and the like.” Wilf says. “Small kitchen and bathroom, double bed. My daughter insisted on her own space when she comes down here, and there isn’t much space in my cottage so….” He shrugs, trailing off.

“It’s brilliant.” Jo says with a grin. She turns to Yaz. “What d’ya think?”

“Sounds great!” Yaz enthuses. It really does; and they will be saving some money.

“Well, that settles it!” Wilf says, and he claps his hands together. “We can get a proper look at the sky later as well. Now, can I interest you two in some fish and chips?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed- i realise Yaz and Jo aren't overly soft™ with each other in this one, but that is coming... 😉 (Lol sorry I'm just overly nervous about posting every week), but I hope you enjoyed Wilf- I love him so much
> 
> I don’t think the pilchard museum actually exists anymore, but I remember I took a trip to Penzance as a child (with my family, I didn’t just pack my bag and head off one day!) and the lighthouse museum was no longer there so we took a trip to the pilchard museum instead. I got a treat of a packet of chocolate shaped like pilchards. Obviously I liked it because it’s stuck with me. Anyway, most of my knowledge of Penzance is from google street view, as I was very young on that trip, so forgive me any oversights. Also didn’t think I’d have to do research into pilchards for this fic but here we are! 
> 
> I also took some creative liberties with Wilf’s home- I had a distinct image of what it looked like in my mind and I wanted to stick to that despite research showing there wasn’t really anywhere like this nearby, particularly in walking distance from the city centre.
> 
> See you Thursday!


	20. Past and Future (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter- I feel the whole thing works best with both parts together so was worried about just posting that part so thank you for all the positive feedback! And... here is part two!
> 
> I hope you enjoy (all aboard the hurt/comfort train choo choo)  
> Edit: this is a repost

Yaz and Jo offer to walk into the city centre to grab some fish and chips for the three of them, seeing as they need to collect their car. Yaz had felt her cheeks tinge pink at the mention of the car, Wilf’s campaigning in mind, but he was not troubled by them. The real problem, he said, was the big corporations and companies.

Yaz keeps her eye on Jo whilst they wait for their order, leaning against the shop window. She seems cheery enough, but Yaz is much more in tune now to how smiles cover the shadows which lurk behind the curtain, and she had seen how Jo had been affected by the talk of Yaz going back to Sheffield and of family. When she finds the moment, she might ask Jo more about her childhood, but she reckons a fish and chip shop is not the place for that.

Instead, her thoughts begin to lead towards her career conundrum, and before she can catch herself out and remind herself of her promise to herself that morning she thinks: Could she do it? Could she move down here and start a new life with Jo by her side? 

Part of her desperately wants to for the obvious reason that she does not want to leave Jo. Plus, she has felt more appreciated down here than she had for the last few months in Sheffield. If life were simple, and decisions could be made on sun-filled days on a whim because Yaz is buoyed by a feeling of completeness, she would say yes now and make arrangements in the morning, but… it is not that simple, and she bites the inside of her cheek. This is why she did not want to think about this today, why she shouldn’t have, for it makes the not being able to simply do that even worse, on a day like this. But she _can’t_ just drop her responsibilities in Sheffield. She has family there, people who know her and depend on her, and as Wilf had said, she could go back and demand things change, make things happen so that she comes out on top, rewrite the memories which have dare sully the image in her head of her childhood home.

It just will not feel like home anymore without Jo by her side.

“Yaz?” Jo asks, and Yaz jumps, head darting to look at the other woman. Jo is frowning at her. “You alright?”

Yaz mentally smacks herself, knowing she should have engaged Jo in conversation and drawn the other woman out of her thoughts, even if she was not going to discuss what was nagging at her. The thoughts about her career were too tempting though, dragging her in like a whirlpool, and Yaz crawls her way out, now, turning to Jo. “Yeah. I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah.” Jo says quickly. Too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well….” Yaz begins to say, but she is cut off when the server calls out Jo’s name and the other woman darts forward to collect their order.

Later. That would be better. 

* * *

Yaz watches with affection from the window of their accommodation for the night as Wilf and Jo take it in turns to peer into the telescope as they discuss the night’s sky above them, luckily a clear, cloudless expanse. She is full of greasy fish and salty chips, and she is contented, irritated at herself for thinking too much earlier about the future and not enough about the present. She still intends to speak with Jo. That is, if she can drag the woman away from the telescope.

She turns back to look at the annexe, which has surprised her with just how cosy and inviting it is. instead of being a shed stuffed into a garden, it is fully insulated, with a smart wooden floor and whitewashed walls. Entering directly into a small kitchen, a small loveseat separates the living and sleeping space, a double bed shoved against the far wall; Yaz supposes one of them will have to shuffle in first before the other gets in with only one way in and out of the bed. Sconces emitting warm light add the final touch of cosiness to the room.

Yaz rummages through her bag, searching for a fleece jumper and pulling it over her head; it is getting colder now the sun has set. The action snags at her ribs, but the pain is lessening and Yaz is optimistic she is on the home stretch in their healing process.

She grabs Jo her hoodie from where she had chucked it on the loveseat earlier, and she is just about to exit the annexe through the ajar door when she hears the sound of voices talking. She pauses, listening into the conversation.

“She’s a fine woman, Yaz.” Wilf says, and Yaz jumps at the sound of her name.

“She is.” Jo agrees. “Too good for me.”

“No, don’t go saying things like that.” Wilf protests. “I can see clear as day she’s mad for you.”

Jo says nothing to that, and Yaz peers around the door, trying to see her face. She is caught in shadow, the sharp edges of her face illuminated by the cold light of the moon. She is looking up at the night sky, not using the telescope, just simply peering up at it as if it might hold all the answers to the thoughts in her head. Yaz wishes she could provide those answers, too, wishes she could see all those complicated thoughts and help guide Jo through them.

“I think we met each other at the right time.” Jo finally says. “Both drifting, bit out of place…I’ve always been drifting, me.”

“Nought wrong in that.” Wilf says. He sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Modern life… it’s too hectic sometimes, folks barely get chance to breath.”

“But Yaz… Yaz can really make a difference.” Jo says. “She’s one of those remarkable people who could change the world.”

Yaz desperately wants to hold Jo and tell her she could do the same, but something holds her there at the doorway to the annexe, listening to the conversation in secret.

“She has family and opportunities in Sheffield, her home.” Jo says, and she scuffs her shoe into the ground.

“You could go with her?” Wilf suggests.

“I couldn’t.” Jo says, shaking her head vehemently, a sad smile on her face. Yaz thinks she understands: Jo had had a whole life in Sheffield with River and going back might feel like walking through a ghost town. Yaz wonders whether the same could be said for Jo as for her: re-write those memories with good ones. Only… grief works differently, and Jo herself has admitted her head is a scramble of thoughts, and although it pains Yaz that the thought Jo could come back with her, for however long, which had secretly been playing in the back of her mind, is not going to be possible, she knows it is the best for Jo’s wellbeing. Besides, she has her own life in Kennock Cove, and Yaz would not be caring for her if she did not have her best interests at heart. Perhaps one day, though… it is too early to say. Yaz turns her attention back to the conversation.

“Well, even if you are apart, things will sustain.” Wilf reassures. “Me and Eileen, we kept things up whilst I was posted in Palestine in the army. We waited.”

“I drift, but people drift away from me, too.” Jo says voice quieter. “Always been that way.”

Yaz is surprised at Jo’s honesty with this man they had only met that afternoon. Not hiding behind a cheery disposition, Jo is confiding in him. Perhaps Yaz should be indignant that he has gained her trust so quickly, only… Throughout the afternoon and evening, Jo and Wilf have bonded over their love of space and Yaz could see the man had been drawn instantly to Jo, a certain glint in his eye which Yaz has caught in her dad’s eye at times. She wonders if the man’s kindness has tuned in to Jo’s waywardness, influenced by her admittance of orphan-hood. This, in Yaz’s mind, has cemented him as a hero; for someone to meet Jo and not judge her for any of her peculiarities, to hear what she had told him and not hold her to any lesser standard because of it, Yaz finds herself titling her head to the sky and wondering if the stars up there had designed for them to meet this day.

Wilf continues the conversation, sounding slightly exasperated. “Come on, woman of science like you, you know there are variables, blips in the data. And she’s a special case, isn’t she?”

Jo squirms, sniffing. Her gaze turns to the ground, her eyes watch the movement of her foot as she continues to trace the ground in a semi-circle, and Yaz finds herself suddenly desperate for her affirmation, slightly angry at Jo’s negative attitude, that she thinks Yaz might so simply drift away from her like the words and affection they have shared mean nothing. That anger falls away, however, when Yaz considers the circumstances and tone in which they were said: Jo was not being disdainful of Yaz, if anything she was being negative of herself, and Yaz remembers Jo’s less than convincing brush off about her childhood, her bold confession she could see Wilf as a grandfather, and the man’s caring attitude towards Jo. Her conviction to ask Jo more about her childhood solidifies. “She is.” Jo finally admits, and then Yaz does see the walls come up, Jo’s head lift and her shoulder drop as she says in a louder, more confident voice, “Actually, don’t know where she’s got to, maybe I should-”

Yaz takes that as her cue to enter the scene that has just played out in front of her, mind whirring, stomach churning. She will need to check in with Jo, she cannot let that sit without trying to tap in to what the other woman is thinking, but she will indulge her charade for the moment, and she will let Jo show her the stars. 

* * *

“Hey.” Yaz says once they have bid Wilf goodnight and the annexe door is locked behind them. She turns to Jo, the other woman slumped on the edge of the bed and looks down at her. “You okay?”

Jo looks up and gives her a small smile, holding out a hand. Yaz comes forwards and takes it, and Jo sighs, thumping her head softly against Yaz’s stomach. “How do you know these things? Have you got a sixth sense or something, Yaz?”

Yaz laughs, tipping Jo’s face up so she can look down at her. Her fingers draw circles at Jo’s temples, trying to give her comfort. “No, I can just read you now.” She ponders over whether to bring up having overheard Jo’s discussion with Wilf, but that might bring them to a conversation over the near future, and Yaz does not want that discussion to happen now, late at night, and nor does she want Jo to think she was snooping. She sticks to her plan. “Want to talk about it?”

Jo shrugs, hiding her face in Yaz’s stomach once again, her glasses digging in a little. Yaz runs her fingers through the other woman’s hair, letting out a long breath. It is probably best if she lets Jo lead the conversation, let her find the words when she can.

What she was not expecting, however, was for the other woman to begin pressing soft kisses to Yaz’s stomach over her clothing, and Yaz laughs, pulling back a bit to look down at Jo, releasing her head. “What are you doing?”

Jo looks up at her, eyes desperate and open and bright. “I just want to cherish you, Yaz.”

Yaz’s breathing gets stilted as hot desire shoots through her as Jo’s hands lightly grab her hips and she draws slow circles with her thumbs. This is not going to plan, but Yaz cannot resist this invitation and it seems Jo wants to do it to make her feel better. They can talk later. For now…

“Then cherish me.” She says, and lets Jo pull her down onto the bed. The other woman swings her legs over Yaz’s body so that she is straddling her, careful not to brush her ribs. In a romantic gesture, Yaz supposes, Jo flings her glasses off and they make a small ‘thump’ as they hit the sofa behind her. 

She looks at Yaz, squinting. “Wow.”

Yaz blushes.

“You’re really blurry.” Jo says, and Yaz cannot contain the laugh that blurts out of her. Jo smiles and dips her mouth to Yaz’s neck.

Yaz loses herself in the sensation. 

* * *

“You were avoiding talking earlier, I could tell.” Yaz gently prods a little while later, when they lie naked and warm under the sheets, Jo burrowed between the wall and Yaz’s body. Jo sighs, and her eyes drift from Yaz’s own to the necklace which hangs around the other woman’s neck. She plays with it, nervous.

“What did you want me to talk about?” Jo asks.

“Nothing, if you don’t want to.” Yaz says. “But only I could see something’s been bothering you this afternoon.”

Jo’s eyes nervously flick up to her face and then down again. “Ask away.”

Yaz licks her lips. “Tell me about your childhood?”

“Oh…” Jo lets out a long breath, head shifting on the pillow. “Well, it was…”

“Only tell me what you’re comfortable with.” Yaz says encouragingly. “You know about my lowest moments. The bullying and the running away. You know I would _never_ judge you.”

“I know.” Jo says sincerely, and she lets out a self-depreciating laugh. “I suppose I don’t know how to talk about it, you know me. I… it was a lot of moving. On the go. Was never in one place for long. Never knew my parents, I were abandoned at birth.”

Yaz quietly swears under her breath, only realising she has done so once she has already uttered the expletive and Jo is looking at her sheepishly. “Sorry.” She mutters. “Just… that’s terrible.”

Jo shrugs. “I haven’t known any better, I’m used to it, but I suppose it does sound a bit… tragic.”

Yaz nods slowly. “Yeah. It does Jo. I’m so sorry.”

Jo frowns. “S’not your fault. I don’t know whose it is, for a long time I blamed myself.”

It is Yaz’s turn to frown now. “But you were a baby, how could it-”

“I never got on with the foster families, could never stick around long enough for them to find adoptive parents suitable… well, people think I’m strange now, as a child it was even more apparent.” She says self-depreciatingly with a cocked eyebrow. “Suppose I thought there were somethin’ wrong with me.”

Yaz is speechless, caught between desperately wanting to deny that and knowing she needs to give Jo the space and time to speak without interruption. She clamps her mouth shut, teeth grinding together as pure sorrow runs cold through her veins.

“When I got to university, and met River, and then Amy and Rory, well…they felt like what I’d always thought a family should feel like.”

“What did it feel like?” Yaz asks.

Jo contemplates this, fingers still fiddling with Yaz’s necklace. “It felt like I were a ship coming into shore from bad waters, like in the harbour back home. Or like… like I were being cocooned in the stars in the sky.” She points skywards, although they cannot see the stars for the ceilings. “I’ve always loved the stars. When I were a kid, I’d stay up late just to see ‘em. Got me in trouble too many times, but... They’re so constant, even when there’s clouds I know they’re just beyond. That’s how being with River and Amy and Rory felt like to me: no matter when things got bad, they were there, just like those stars.” Her smile turns to a bittersweet twist of the lips, and she shrugs. “Well, you know how that ended.”

“Amy and Rory, they’re still there for ya, though.” Yaz replies, watching Jo carefully. The other woman nods. “So that’s still a family, Jo.”

Jo sighs. “I know, it’s just…”

Yaz waits for her decide whether she wants to say anything more, taking her fiddling fingers and stilling them by grasping them reassuringly in her own. After a few minutes of calm silence, Jo finally speaks. “I’d never had that stability before, that feeling of ‘family.’ When River died I thought… I thought it were because I didn’t deserve that. My own mother hadn’t wanted me, why would anyone else?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Yaz says, unable to keep her anger and her passion in check any longer.

“I knew you were going to say that…” Jo says, sounding upset. Yaz is quick to continue what she has to say.

“But that’s not to say you aren’t legitimatised in feeling that. If that’s how you felt that’s how you felt. But… it’s not right, you know. You do deserve a family.”

Jo squirms, and she finally meets Yaz’s eyes, although she must be a blurry mass of colours seeing as she does not have her glasses on. “I don’t know if…”

“You’re more loved and appreciated than you might think.” Yaz insists. “All the people back in Kennock Cove: Amy, Rory, Grace and Graham, Jack. Ryan even, although he can be a dolt at times. They all care for you.”

Jo smiles softly, sadly. “Ryan, when he came to apologise to me, he told me ‘bout his mum.” Yaz nods, remembering, of course, Ryan’s terrible loss of his mother at age thirteen. “He trusted me with that information. Thought it might, I guess, help us understand each other better.”

“You see, people care for ya.” Yaz says. “That’s what makes a family. They’re your big family.”

“I think Wilf has just made me think.” Jo says. “What it might have been like to have a grandad. Or a dad.”

Yaz strokes her arm with her free hand, unable to keep the sorrow off her face. Jo sniffs, and Yaz carefully wipes the tear which trails down her cheek with her thumb. Jo laugh self-depreciatingly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you goose.” Yaz says, and she smiles warmly as Jo frowns in bewilderment.

“ _Goose?!_ ”

Yaz laughs and then shrugs. “Suits ya.”

Jo does not look convinced, but she lets it go and leans further into Yaz, head to her clavicle. After a while spent in peaceful silence, Yaz feeling glad she has gotten Jo to open up a bit, Jo quietly mutters, "You are too, you know.”

“I’m what?” Yaz asks.

“Part of those people, in Kennock Cove. That family.” Jo says, and she peers up at Yaz anxiously. “Even when- even when you leave, you’ll still be a part of it. They care for you, too, and so do I.”

Yaz thinks to how it has felt to be living in Kennock Cove for the past month or so. She has felt part of that small community, and she supposes her already established friendship with Ryan had outstretched the kindness of Grace and Graham to her, too, has helped that, but Jo, and the others, they had all welcomed her with open arms and understood she was a soul looking for stability in a time of great upheaval. She supposes they had all worked their way into each other’s hearts. Yaz feels caught between wanting to cherish this newfound place of belonging and the responsibility that waits for her in Sheffield. And… oh, if Jo’s family is back in Kennock Cove, and she sees Yaz as a part of that, that makes the having to leave harder, knowing it will just be achingly hard for both of them to part. Her earlier thought, that Jo _feels_ like home, sits there both desperately wanted and desperately unwanted. They need to discuss this, and the pressure of that sits on her chest even heavier than it had this morning.

The silence has sat for too long and both of them, Yaz thinks, are aware of the implications that have come with Jo’s words. The other woman sucks in a hesitant breath, before asking, “Yaz… what do you say we extend our trip? Just by another day… I have to be back by Saturday for the tour, but we could go back on Friday, instead of Thursday?”

It is an excuse, Yaz knows, to escape the bigger conversations they should be having, but Yaz is willing and relieved to play along for now, to let the hours of their stretch out seemingly in an eternity, and allow herself to fall into the comforting embrace of that endlessness.

As if nothing else exists.

“Yeah, that’s sounds good to me.” She says easily and sees Jo visibly relax.

“Good, that’s good.” She says. “I’ll phone the car company in the mornin’.”

She nuzzles further into Yaz’s neck, and Yaz puts her arms around her, relishing in the feel of her warm body next to hers. Solidarity, when all surrounding them feels certain. Still, she leans into that body and finds peace in this moment of stillness.

In the morning, she will suggest they talk.

In the morning, she will be brave and face the future, but right now she just wants to face the woman in front of her, and the warm place she has carved in Yaz’s heart, place herself in front of it as if it were a warm hearth.

She pulls Jo’s body closer to hers, and slides into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> The ‘you’re really blurry’ bit was something I saw on Twitter, but it was so funny and fitted Jo too well so I had to get it in here- I wish I were that funny to have come up with that myself, but credits to whoever I saw on Twitter who’d come up with it!
> 
> See you Sunday!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1  
> Come say hi!


	21. The Island Shore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love so far, decided to just post this chapter in one update as it's not overly long, so please enjoy 😊

Yaz is awoken by agitated movement next to her and cut off sounds of fear and desperation. She blinks blearily for a moment, unsure what it is she is hearing and feeling, and fear sweeps down for a moment, foolish fear from dreams which had subconsciously been plaguing her, that the man from Sheffield has gotten his bail and found Yaz and come to attack her and Jo in revenge. Such a thought sends her bolting awake, and once awake it makes its departure and she realises how preposterous such a thought is; he would not know that information, he cannot touch Yaz. So, what has woken her?

The reality is more understandable, though no less horrid, and in fact Yaz’s stomach clenches in sorrow as she realises that next to her, Jo is caught up in the throes of a nightmare. It is the second one to happen since the car journey, and Yaz theorises that the thoughts and talk of her childhood might have triggered something subconsciously to disturb her.

Yaz sits herself upright, ribs aching a little, and letting out a soft sigh she very gently touches Jo’s shoulder, shaking her a little in order to rouse her. It is difficult, Jo obviously in a deep dream, but eventually with Yaz’s soft encouragement she stills and then her eyes flicker open, her breathing heavy and fast. Yaz can see the beads of sweat on her brow in the morning light which streams in from behind the fabric curtains.

“Hey.” She says, once she can see Jo is cognisant to where she is and what has just happened. She gives the woman a moment in which she runs a hand across her face and then through her hair, scars on her bared arm catching Yaz’s eye, before she asks, “You okay?”

“Sorry Yaz.” Jo says, not looking at her, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Don’t be sorry.” Yaz assures. 

Jo sighs, the hand in her hair thumping to her side on the bedsheets. Yaz shuffles backwards off the bed, reaching for the pair of jeans she had discarded on the loveseat. “I’ll get us some tea.”

She pads over to the small kitchen, giving Jo the time she needs to collect herself, and by the time she is pouring hot fresh tea into two mugs Jo has joined her in the kitchen and stands by her, hands curling into the ends of her sleeves.

“Sorry, Yaz.” She repeats. “Should have known that would happen after last night…”

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that talk brought that on.” Yaz says, feeling slightly guilty.

“No, I wanted you to know, I wanted to tell you.” Jo assures her, and Yaz nods. She can see the slight tremor running through Jo’s hand and she wets her lips, thinking.

“Jo, maybe we shouldn’t use the car today?” She suggests. “Maybe let’s… let’s see if Wilf will let us stay another night? We can move on tomorrow?”

Jo takes in a deep breath, and Yaz thinks she looks relieved. She smiles slightly. “That would be good, Yaz.” She pulls Yaz into a hug before the other woman knows what is happening, but when she does, Yaz lets herself breath out her own sigh of relief into Jo’s shoulder. They stay embraced for a good thirty seconds, moulding to each other’s bodies easily now, and Yaz slowly feels the trembles leave Jo’s body. “I feel like we owe it to Wilf not to use the car as well. There’s still things in the area we could see, why drive when we have perfectly good legs for walking?”

Yaz laughs. “Don’t tell me, we’re going to the pilchard museum?”

“No,” Jo says with a laugh, and then she is drawing back from Yaz and looking her in the eye. Her own are wide and wistful and she smiles softly at Yaz. “I want to show you somewhere a bit more meaningful.” She contemplates something and her face scrunches up on one side, and Yaz relaxes to see that familiar goofiness on Jo’s face. It tells her they will be alright today. “… And less fishy.”

Yaz forgets about her promise to herself of the night before as she watches Jo shake off her nightmare and relax at the prospect of showing Yaz what she has planned for the day, and she justifies another day spent not thinking beyond said day by arguing with herself that this is a rare chance to simply enjoy oneself amidst the overbearing pressure of adulthood. And if it will wipe that look of Jo’s face Yaz will gladly spend the hours of the day making her happy rather than being responsible.

Yaz does not talk about the future that day. 

* * *

Jo has perked up considerably by the time they reach St Michael’s Mount, and is abound with her usual enthusiasm for historical sites as she leads Yaz towards it. Yaz herself is entranced upon first glance at the castle which sits upon the mounded island, surrounded by trees, a small harbour below, and excitement runs through her veins and she could almost imagine they were two travellers making their way to a mystical court as they walk along the exposed walkway towards the island, the tide low and unthreatening at this time.

“Does this have any connection to King Arthur?” Yaz asks, and Jo smiles.

“Trust you to bring that up.” She jokes.

Yaz lightly pokes her in the arm. “What? You got me interested in it, and in turn it got you interested in me.”

Jo rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Oh, alright. Let me see…” Her tongue sticks just a little ways out of her mouth as she thinks. “Well, some believe that in the myth of Tristan and Isolde the king of Cornwall Mark sent a hermit here to get some cloths for his queen, Iseult. Oh, and there is a theory that in the twelfth century the story went that _this_ is where a lot of the legend played out, instead of Tintagel Castle. You see? It’s a money-making scheme.” Jo taps the side of her nose conspiratorially at that last sentence.

“Ironically, though, Jo, you’ve also made a living out of his stories.” Yaz counters. “The bookshop.”

Jo seems caught out by that, and she bites the inside of her cheek, face scrunching up as she concedes, “Yeah, alright, you win.” 

* * *

“So, why was is more meaningful?” Yaz asks Jo once they have ascended the trailing path of the island up towards the castle. They stand on the precipice, the coast laid out before him, the people who swarm the town of Marazion like small insects at this distance. The water of the sea glistens like cut glass, looking almost unreal in the beauty of the day. Yaz considers her question again. “Well, apart from how beautiful this all is.”

Jo shrugs with one shoulder, looking pensive as she says. “Don’t know. Just something sticky about an island which finds temporary connection to the shore.”

Yaz frowns and is on the cusp of asking her what that means when she realises.

Of course.

Actions are preferable to words for Jo, and Yaz thinks that perhaps this is her way of saying the things she is worried to say, does not want to for fear of upsetting the equilibrium. They are an island at the moment, both of them together and individually, and in many different ways they have found times when the tide has receded and connection with others and each other have been made: last night’s discussion, Jo’s admittance about River, Yaz opening up to her about her job worries and how her own childhood experiences impacted her life. And also, how whilst on this trip they are cut off together, soon they will have to return to the mainland across that walkway.

However, Yaz thinks, one could also see it as a positive, and she feels a smile crossing her lips at the thought that the tide might always recede but it will rise once again, and it is possible for them to find their moments together, just the two of them, just like on this trip. And, Yaz dares to think ahead, if one thinks the mainland is Sheffield and the island is Kennock Cove, well, she can see the mainland from here and she can wave to the people who walk upon it; Jo and Yaz might be apart physically but they would never be properly apart, for they would exist in each other. Yaz has never been more grateful for modern technology.

It reassures her, fills her with a calm sense of hope. Even when they return to Kennock Cove, and even when she leaves for Sheffield soon after that, the island will still be there, the one they created together. The tide cannot rise high enough to swallow it, it is under their control, and even when storms hit, they will be strong enough to support each other. Even if Jo sees this as a negative thing now, Yaz will prove to her it does not have to be, and in doing so restore her own courage to herself about what lies ahead. 

Yaz takes Jo’s hand and clasps their fingers together, trying to communicate through that action that she has heard Jo and that she understands, but to prove her point she says, “This island has stood for thousands of years, it’s not going to disappear so soon.” Perhaps she imagines it, but Yaz thinks she feels Jo’s fingers relax slightly in hers. Perhaps her fears and worries are a little harder to shake than yaz had thought that morning, but it is no matter, Yaz will help, and in doing so she has found some peace with herself. “Come on.” She says. “Let’s keep exploring.” 

* * *

The rest of the day passes in the comfortable peace of simply existing.

Jo becomes familiar with Yaz’s stories of her discovering and figuring out her homosexuality, and Yaz becomes familiar with the small titbits Jo feels capable of sharing from her own childhood. Her stories of university parties and Amy’s antics leave Yaz gasping for breath from laughing, and Yaz’s stories of probation training going wrong in spectacular fashion has Jo’s face crinkling with laughter in just the way Yaz likes.

They spend their evening with Wilf, the man having met their request to another night in his annexe with delight, eating fish and chips and gazing up at the stars, and then they spend their night in each other’s arms. Yaz traces the lines of Jo’s scars across her arm, and Jo presses delicate kisses to the sensitive skin of Yaz’s neck, physical intimacy growing with their emotional intimacy. 

Jo also learns about Izzy Flint and her gaggles of girls; and Yaz also learns about the stick people Jo would carve into the wooden skirting under her bed in one home so that she could have friends.

“Were you lonely as a child?” She asks as they lay on the grass of Wilf’s top lawn, gazing up at the stars.

Jo considers this. “Yeah. I think I was. I think that’s why I enjoy talking to people now. Probably why I might come off a bit too much to some.”

“I think you’re ace.” Yaz says with a smile, titling her head to look at the other woman. Jo tilts hers so that they are looking at each other.

“And I think that if I ever see Izzy Flint then you might have to hold me back, Yaz.”

“From what? Lecturin’ her about bullying?” Yaz asks.

“Exactly.” Jo says, nodding, turning back to the stars.

Yaz lets out a light laugh on a sigh and turns her gaze skywards as well. After a moment she says, “I think that’s why I like helpin’ people out. Didn’t ever want to be like the girls who bullied me at school. Wanted to make sure if people needed help and kindness, I could provide that.”

Yaz’s walls are almost completely torn down, the gates to her soul thrown open for Jo to walk in if she so desires, and Yaz loses herself in how whole that makes her feel; to be seen and heard is the most fulfilling thing to happen to her in months.

And now she does not feel so afraid of what might come next.

Only… the next morning she gets a brief but soul-crushing text. 

* * *

She wakes to the buzzing of her phone and finds to her surprise that the sun is streaming in through open curtains and the bed beside her is cold and empty, Jo long gone. She panics for a second, but then she sees the annexe door is propped open and she can hear Jo’s northern twang coming from outside. She must have overslept.

Rubbing at her face Yaz lets out a long sigh and reaches for her phone where it rests on the bedside table. She freezes at what she sees there. A text from her co-worker, Nigel.

_Perp got bail. Thought you should know._

“Shit.” She mutters, and flops back onto the bed, hand over her eyes, phone clasped to her chest. After a moment she grabs at it and presses call on Nigel’s contact information.

He picks up after three rings. “Yaz, hey. How’s it going?”

“Yeah, good.” She says mindlessly. “How’s it going there?

“Ahh, you know, same as usual.” Nigel says, and Yaz can hear the creak of his chair as he leans back on it; that sound has accompanied every day at her workstation in the office. It makes her feel both nostalgic and sick. “Same petty thieves, same young offenders, same, same, same…”

“Listen, Nige, I got your text…” Yaz says.

“Oh, yeah, sorry for interrupting your holiday but…”

“No, it’s fine.” Yaz says, tone low. “I would prefer to know after your first text.”

“The victim’s got protection, though, don’t worry.” Nigel tries to appease her. “He won’t be let anywhere near her.”

“But what about other potential victims, Nigel? What if he does it again?”

“He’s on strict bail orders, got to check in with an officer every other day.” Nigel says, trying to reassure. It does nothing, however, to alleviate Yaz’s disappointment. 

She sighs. “The bastard.”

“I know, that case were horrendous.” Nigel agrees. Yaz can hear the creak of his chair as he swings on it. “I miss ya Yaz! Office and patrol ain’t the same without ya.”

Yaz sighs. “I should hope you do miss me.”

“You’ll be back soon? Even the boss is missin’ ya I think.”

Yaz sighs again. “Yeah. Just another few weeks and I’ll be back.”

Back where nothing ever quite makes a difference and monsters poised as men are allowed to walk free.

It is hard to find Wilf’s encouragement as beneficial straight after this news, and her newfound hope that everything will work itself out is now looking slightly more dubious. 

Jo enters the annexe just as Yaz has rung off Nigel’s call. She smiles at Yaz, who musters one in return.

“Morning. You were sound asleep so I didn’t want to wake ya.” Jo says. “I’ve packed everything up in the car but there’s no rush to leave, I were just… keepin’ myself busy.”

Yaz narrows her eyes. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Jo says unconvincingly, eyes tracing the patterns the shadows of the sun make on the wall above Yaz’s head, rather than looking at her. “Think you did the sleepin’ for both of us, actually.” She tries to joke.

Yaz runs a hand over her eyes, and when she does not laugh at her joke Jo asks her, “Everythin’ alright?”

“Just got a text.” Yaz admits. “The man from the case I told you about? He got bail.”

Jo’s eyes wilt with sympathy. “Oh Yaz, I’m so sorry.”

“The victim’s got protection and he’s going to be well watched but… well, it still seems like a blow.”

Jo nods. “’Course it does, because you care ‘bout your job.”

“Damn my job.” Yaz says in a moment of irritation. If not for her job, the time they spend together might not feel so much like it is borrowed, she will not have to make compromises. All her previous optimism seems to have lost her, and Yaz hates that it has, but no matter how much she tries to build up to it again, she cannot quite find it yet. Reason leaves and defeat takes its place.

Jo bites her lip. “Let’s just… let’s just enjoy today, yeah? I was thinking we could head across country today and aim to end up in St Ives.”

Yaz looks up at her, and sees the hope in Jo’s eyes, almost a desperateness, and finds herself relaxing. Another day with Jo, yes, that sounds like a balm to the spirit. Hopefully it will help her clear her head. She forgets her promise to think of things again, pushing it to the back of her head like it is an old forgotten box in an attic. They seem less easy to deal with now and she wants to approach them with full confidence.

Taking a deep breath, Yaz summons a smile. “Sounds good. Great.”

Jo nods, looking relieved. “I’ll let you get ready.” 

* * *

Departing Wilf’s humble abode feels sadder than it should for a man they had only met two days previous, but Wilf’s kindness and hospitality has enamoured him to them both, and Yaz is fairly sure she sees almost parental concern in his eyes as he embraces Jo in a brief hug. When he pulls Yaz into a hug of her own, smelling of tea and the sweet tang of jam, he mutters into her ear, “Look after that one. She’s a lost soul, I can tell.”

“I will.” Yaz promises him, and when they break apart, he gives her an approving nod and a pat on the shoulder.

“And look after yourself, too. Best copper in Sheffield, remember?” Wilf says to her, and Yaz musters a weak smile.

“I shall look forward to your email, Jo.” Wilf says as they head towards the car which is parked on the side of the street. He comes to a stop at the end of his drive. “Remember the article about time travel!”

Jo turns to Wilf with a bright smile and a wave, one leg in the car. “Will do!”

“And you, Yaz, you remember what a stellar person you are!” Wilf says encouragingly. “Don’t let ‘em win!”

Yaz nods, incredibly grateful for his words in light of this morning’s news. “I will!” She replies, echoing Jo’s words.

When they have both slid into the car, doors closing behind them, Yaz turns to Jo and asks, “Time travel?”

“Wilf wants to read an article an ex-colleague wrote about the possibilities of time travel.” Jo explains as she straps her seat belt in.

“And is it? Possible, I mean.” Yaz asks as she copies the action.

Jo shrugs and nods at the same time, which is inconclusive. “He seems to think so.”

Yaz cannot keep her surprise off of her face, and Jo looks at her with a small frown. “What?”

“ _Seriously?”_ Yaz asks.

“Mmhmm.” Jo says, and with a grin says. “The universe. It will surprise ya. Constantly.” 

* * *

“So, why have you brought us here?” Yaz asks as they exit the car, the dry dust of the ground rising up as soon as her foot hits the dirt. The small car park they are in is half full of cars, and as Yaz looks around she takes in the small village and the café nearby, the branding adorned with a mermaid.

“Zennor is a famous place of Cornish myth.” Jo says, scrunching up her eyes as she peers around; because she has run out of contact lenses, she cannot wear her sunglasses, Yaz does not think she has the forethought to get prescription sunglasses. “I think I mentioned it in my talk.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to remind me.” Yaz says, scratching her forehead. She is still feeling slightly off but is willing herself to relax.

Jo is off like a rocket as she leads Yaz from the car park to a small village road. It seems a few other people are all heading this way, so it must lead to something.

“Zennor is home to the myth of the ‘Mermaid of Zennor’.” Jo begins, hands already away in their gesticulation. “As it goes, a mermaid heard a man named Matthew Trewhella singing and was so enticed by his voice she came ashore and disguised her tail.” They stop by a large stone church, with a tower which rises to the sky. Jo peers it up and down appreciatively. “They met here, in the church. Matthew was so taken by the woman than when she went to leave he begged for them not to be parted. When she told him she was a creature of the sea, he followed her down to the ocean and slipped into the water with him. He was never seen again, and the myth goes that at sunset you can hear his singing.”

“Wow.” Yaz says breathlessly. “That’s… incredible.” It is one of those old tales which has so enamoured her to Cornwall and hearing it from Jo is an added bonus.

“I want us to stop off at the church first because there’s a pew engraved with a mermaid.” Jo explains. “It dates from the fifteenth century, that’s probably where the myth came from.”

As they walk up the small path towards the church, Jo takes a glance back at the tourists who pass them by, cooler containers and beach apparel in hand. She tuts.

“Uh. Tourists.”

Yaz cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t slate them, I’m one of them.”

“Yeah, but you’re the better kind, actually interested in the place you are rather than just the hot beaches.” Jo says.

“May I remind you that you showed off one of said beaches to me the other day?” Yaz says, thinking of Kynance Cove.

“But not so you could sunbathe.” Jo replies. “I wouldn’t last out in the sun like that all day, I’m risking sunburn as it is.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves.” Yaz counters. Yaz has not brought it up, but she cannot help but linger over the thought of why Jo has covered those scars up; she does not generally care what other people think, and Yaz has already seen them and adorned them with kisses, so why she feels the need to cover them up Yaz worries is in the same vein as to why she apparently spent a sleepless night. Still, both of them are trying to have a good day, so she will not mention it.

“My legs, though.” Jo says.

“I helped you put sunscreen on them, you’ll be fine, goose.” Yaz says, evoking to epithet to try and encourage a joking atmosphere. Jo scrunches her nose up in fake disdain as the nickname, but from the way her cheeks flush and the grin which pulls at her lips Yaz can tell she likes it.

“Right, let’s get a move on.” Jo says, drawing them back into action. “This pew isn’t going to display itself.”

Yaz does think the church pew is fascinating, but she spends most of her time in the church watching Jo take it in instead, the delight in her eyes pure and not weighed down with any other thoughts, just the simple fascination of seeing something so old and yet finding a connection with it.

After, they stroll down to the beach which rests a mile beyond the village, a small cove which offers one an intimacy with the ocean. Yaz understands why Jo brought them here: mythical fantasy mixes with natural beauty and Yaz feels calm, mind at ease, and she feels like she breaths easy for the first time that morning as she gazes out at the waters in front of them. Her bare feet are paddling in the water, Jo’s next to hers, their hands entwined.

“Wish I’d put my bikini on under my clothes.” Yaz says. “The water looks so inviting.”

Jo crooks an eyebrow at the mention of Yaz’s bikini. “I wish you’d done that too.”

Yaz turns to her with a knowing grin. “Jo? When I were injured, and you offered to help me undo by bikini… that was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Both eyebrows rise, and a cheeky grin spread across Jo’s lips. “Actions rather than words, remember?”

Yaz’s mouth drops open in mock offence. She shoves lightly at the other woman’s arm. “You sneaky…!”

Jo slips slightly next to her when Yaz shoves her, and Yaz giggles as she catches her under the elbow.

“I’m glad to hear you laughing again.” Jo comments once she has righted herself.

That sentence revives Yaz just as much as the scenery around them, and she finds her self-confidence crawling back to her like a guilty dog who has run from its owner. Her shoulders roll back and Yaz tips her head back as she feels herself melt.

“You’re gonna do amazin’ things, Yaz.” Jo says, and Yaz crooks her head to look at her, but Jo’s eyes are on the waters in front of them, staring into the depths. Yaz tips her head back again.

She does not know how long she stands there with her face to the sun and Jo’s hand in hers, but she is rudely awakened from that time of stillness when the hand in hers suddenly tugs and Yaz is jolted forwards, giving an involuntary yelp as she is.

“Jo, what-?” She blurts out, confused. She thinks for a moment that Jo has slipped once again, but worry lowers her brow into a frown as she sees the expression on Jo’s face. “Hey, you okay?”

Jo is breathing heavily, and her eyes are wide as she stares down at the water, as if something has spooked her. “I thought-” She begins but then breaks off and, seemingly unaware her hand is still in Yaz’s, heads deeper into the water, the liquid sloshing up their legs at the quick movement, and Yaz is helplessly dragged along with her, stumbling slightly. Jo’s eyes desperately search the water, and if it weren’t for the unbridled shock on her face Yaz might she think she is trying to joke with her in typical Jo fashion.

“Jo, what is it?” She asks.

Jo licks her lips, eyes skimming across the water. She blinks, shaking her head. “I thought- I thought I saw something…”

“What, like a shark or something?” Yaz asks, peering into the water herself. She takes a small step back at her own suggestion, the one who is spooked now at the thought that there might be a shark playing around at their feet.

“No, no, not a shark…” Jo murmurs, but does not elaborate further.

In order to diffuse the tension, sensing a mounting panic from Jo that she wants to appease, Yaz tries to joke, “Don’t tell me, it was the mermaid?”

Jo does not laugh, she does not even smile, and Yaz notices that the hand in hers is trembling slightly. “Hey.” Yaz says. “It’s alright. Let’s leave the water.”

Jo lets Yaz guide her from the tide, wet sand clinging to the soles of their feet as they stagger out of the water and, Yaz collecting their shoes on the way, head up to a rocky outlay which provides them with a natural seated area. Their hands finally release one another as they sit down, Jo letting out a shaky breath as she does, and Yaz perches on the rocks next to her, dropping their shoes to the ground.

She gives Jo a moment to breath, not looking at her but simply being a reassuring presence by her side. After about five minutes, the other woman straightens, and she lets out a long breath, this one not shaking as it leaves her lungs. “Sorry ‘bout that. Just… felt a bit dizzy.”

“Here.” Yaz says, swinging her backpack around and ignoring the slight groan from her ribs. She unzips and rifles through it, finally coming back with her water bottle. She hands it to Jo. “I think I’ve got an oat bar in my bag as well, if you want some sugar.”

“Ew. Gross.” Jo says as she takes a swig of water. “I shouldn’t have left my bag in the car. There’s custard creams in there.”

“We can head back to the car in a minute if you want.” Yaz tells her. She is not sure she quite believes Jo’s reasoning for why she suddenly dragged them both into the water, but there is something in the way Jo holds herself, like a cornered animal, that prevents her from pursuing the subject; if Jo does not want to say she does not want to say, pushing will not help.

“No.” Jo shakes her head as she passes Yaz back her water bottle for her to slip back into her backpack. Yaz sees a steely determination in her eyes as she works her jaw, breathing heavily. She turns to Yaz, and her eyes are hooded, darker, and Yaz only has a moment to brace before Jo’s lips are pressing against her and Yaz is forced to push her feet into the ground to stabilise herself against the force of Jo’s kiss. There is a desperation to the way she presses herself against Yaz, and Yaz brings a hand to her cheek to both reassure and comfort her and also remind her not to go too harshly.

They are both gasping for breath when they break away, and Jo dips her head, hair curtaining her face from Yaz’s view.

“When people feel unwell and they’re given the kiss of life, that’s not the kind of kiss they’re talking about.” Yaz says breathlessly, and Jo’s responding laugh is reassuring.

“Isn’t ‘kiss it better’ a phrase, too? Have I heard that?” Jo responds, looking up at Yaz with a quirked eyebrow. She looks less at odds now, eyes brighter, and Yaz relaxes.

“Don’t think it’s medically approved.” Yaz quips.

“I’ll ask Martha.” Jo says, straightening with her hands on her thighs. She scrunches her nose up and looks at Yaz apologetically. “Sorry, probably should have asked before I kissed ya like that.”

“S’okay.” Yaz reassures, trying to wave it off like it was nothing and she did not mind, even though she is rather intrigued, and slightly concerned, as to why Jo had kissed with such passion and fervour after taking a strange turn in the water. Paranormal forces at work in this mythical place, Yaz thinks, the summer heat, obviously, getting to her.

They head back to the car soon after, and Yaz watches Jo carefully out of the corner of her eye. The woman is the appearance of normalcy, but there is a tightness of her jaw and she is quieter, deep in thought. Yaz is concerned, but she also feels buoyed, confident, all thoughts of the perp that morning shoved away from that vulnerable part of herself and instead told to ‘shove off’; she will cheer Jo up, she will look out for her and ensure that they both enjoy their last couple of days alone. It is how she has always made herself feel stronger: by helping others. And if Jo isn’t a special case then no one is; helping her feel better will make Yaz feel better, and she feels more confident in her ability to be the person to help her; Jo had kissed her for comfort, and Yaz will kiss her for kindness.

And hopefully, when the time is right, she will demonstrate to her that whatever may come Yaz is committed to trying to make it work between them, because if they could not find a way then the sun might as well stop shining down on the earth. 

* * *

Jo lets out a comedically loud groan as they stumble into their hotel room, throwing her bag down on the ground next to the two armchairs which rest in the corner before throwing herself down on the double bed and its plush white sheets. They have reached St Ives, and had both decided on settling for a hotel this time, not overtly fancy but nice enough; it is only a stopping place for them to rest their heads whilst they spend the last full day exploring, anyway.

Yaz laughs at Jo’s display, glad at least the woman is not being quiet, and drops her own bags down in the corner, stepping towards the door which leads to a small balcony. Jo had perked up in the car after a few custard creams and being given the job of navigator had preoccupied her enough that Yaz is no longer as concerned as she had been when they had left Zennor. Overlooking St Ives, Yaz lets herself let out a long breath.

It is large, and Yaz is sure she has seen pictures of it in magazines and on television programmes; it is one of Cornwall’s most famous destinations, and Yaz has to admit that although there is a quaint, almost quirky feel to the buildings which she overlooks from her position, Jo had told her St Ives has a connection to many artists, a Tate Modern stationed by the beach, that the babble of voices she hears, calling and shouting and whooping tells her this is not going to be a secluded spot, but rather one infested with tourists.

Turning her back on the town she heads back inside, and she sits down on the side of the bed by Jo, watching with amusement as the woman is spread, like a starfish, over the sheets. When the bed dips under Yaz’s weight, she turns her head to the side and peers up at Yaz through one eye, the other crushed into the pillows. 

“Do you know why I brought you here, Yaz? To St Ives?” She asks, and Yaz cocks and eyebrow, taking on an expression of mock confusion.

“No idea.”

“Because you’re a work of art.” Jo replies, and Yaz cannot help the burst of laughter which escapes, the affectionate roll of her eyes.

“Very funny.”

“It’s true!” Jo insists, and her arms flaps around on the bed as she tries to find Yaz’s hand, finally capturing it in her own.

“I suppose you think that was smooth?” Yaz says, letting Jo’s thumb run over her knuckles.

“Yes.” Jo says cocky, and Yaz rolls her eyes again. Jo’s eyes gleam. “And you like it, I know you do.”

“No, I don’t.” Yaz protests half-heartedly, moving so that she is leaning over Jo, the other woman turning onto her back to look at Yaz properly. Their hands are still curled together.

“Yes, you do.” Jo insists.

“Jo, you are many wonderful things, but I don’t think smooth is one of them.” Yaz says teasingly, and Jo makes a mock expression of offence.

“Not smooth? Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the king of smooth! Wait- _queen_ of smooth? Oh, who cares!”

Yaz laughs and shakes her head in fond exasperation and leans down, capturing Jo’s lips into a kiss. When she pulls back, she looks into Jo’s eyes, searching them out for what might lie behind hazel irises. Jo stares back at her, and in that moment Yaz finds utter stillness, like a calm sea on a clear day, and it releases her concerns. 

“Yaz…” Jo says, the word reverential on her tongue.

“Jo.” Yaz replies.

Jo’s hand creeps to Yaz’s hair, pushing a strand behind her ear. It then trails down her neck, and Yaz shivers at the touch. Something shifts, and heat rises in her, and she can see that heat, that desire, reflected in Jo’s eyes.

“Yaz…” Jo says again, then, the name careful on her tongue, as if it the last drop of honey and she is savouring it. “Can we….”

“It’s the middle of the day.” Yaz says automatically, although her pulse quickens as Jo’s hand trails even further down to her chest.

“I don’t care.” Jo says, tone confident, assured, reassuring both of them. They want this, the both of them, a chance to just be together in the simplest way possible.

“Well, then….” Yaz says, just as Jo’s hand reaches the edge of her top and slips below. “Neither do I.”

They fall into each other, and all else falls away. 

* * *

Yaz stands on the balcony a little while later, letting the sea air cool her, the light wind which is picking up brushing pleasantly across sweat-coated skin. Behind her, Jo sleeps soundly on the bed, and Yaz smiles affectionately, glad the other woman is resting. Her speculation that Jo had not slept very much the night before has been proved correct, and no sooner had they come down from their cloud that the other woman’s eyes were fluttering shut and Yaz was pressing a gentle kiss to her temple before sliding away and throwing her clothes back on. 

Yaz jumps, lost in thought, at the sudden vibrating of her phone in her pocket, and she is alarmed and immediately filled with nerves as she sees her boss’s details come up on the screen. After a moment’s hesitation she hits ‘accept call’.

“Hi, Searg.” She greets him.

“Yaz, how is my best officer getting on in the backwaters of this country?” Her sergeant greets her, and Yaz does not resist the temptation to roll her eyes. _If I was your favourite, you’d have given me the opportunity to become a sergeant, too. Also, these aren’t the backwaters!_

“It’s really beautiful down here.” She says vaguely; to say too much to her boss would seem strange.

“Well I hope you’re not going to be persuaded by any temptations to move down there and become a fisherwoman or anything because I’ve got some news for you.”

Yaz sighs. “Nigel told me about that perp this morning, actually, Searg so-”

“No, not that.” Her sergeant cuts her off. “They’ve allotted more funding to our constabulary because our arrest rates and persecution numbers have been so high, and there’s another opening for a sergeant, Yaz, and I want _you_ to go for it.”

Yaz’s hand stills its tapping at the balcony railing, and she almost drops her phone, feeling numb. “… _What?_ ”

“Listen, I know you were disappointed about missing out the first opportunity, and honestly Yaz, I didn’t want it to go to Stewart as much as all of you officers didn’t, but the chief… well, I shouldn’t say this but it were nepotism, really, and he’s a bit of a narrow-minded git so-”

“Hang on,” Yaz interrupts him, having not heard a word he had just said, caught up in a whirlwind inside her mind, a whirlwind composed of the words ‘sergeant’ and ‘promotion’ and ‘I want _you_ ’. “You’re offering me a promotion?”

“Well, I’d like you to go up for it.” Her sergeant replies. “And I have to say it’s looking promising for you. Always has, Yaz, I really do mean it when I say you’re my best officer.”

Yaz has to catch herself against the railing then before her legs give out. She should be delighted to hear this, surely? Elated to know that, apparently, she had never been as bad as she thought, that she is appreciated and wanted back in Sheffield in the job she once loved and has slowly started to come to love again. That the missed promotion _had_ been for something strange, something dodgy; not her fault at all, Yaz had simply been… collateral. She had been confident yesterday and this morning, when she was pushing that perp away from her insecurities, that she could do it, go back there and feel satisfied and fulfilled….

So why now is she not jumping up and down in delight?

Shock, she tells herself. That is what this is; she just hasn’t processed it yet, it is all such a surprise. If she lets it sink in, she will feel that buzz on her skin, like taking a sip of perfectly mixed lemonade, the sweet following the bitter.

“So, Yaz, what do you think?” Her sergeant asks her. “You’re back in a few weeks, perhaps we could have a meeting when you return?”

“Yeah.” Yaz finds herself replying, tone not particularly positive but an affirmative, nonetheless. “Sounds good, searg.”

“Thought you’d sound a bit more positive, Yaz.” Her sergeant replies.

“I am.” She blurts quickly to reassure him. “I am positive, sir, it’s just a surprise, is all.”

She can practically hear his nod, see it in her mind’s eye: a slow bob of the head as he weighs up what she has said and comes to the conclusion that she is, in fact, being truthful.

“I’ll email you the details and we can arrange something more concrete closer to the time, don’t want to interfere with your holiday too much, Yaz.” Her boss says, and Yaz can hear the tell-tale tone of voice which means he is drawing this conversation to an end, and she is relieved.

“Thank you, sir.” Yaz says distractedly, mind still caught up in a net of surprise, and then she winces. “Really, I mean it. Thank you.” She tries it with a bit more sincerity this time, and her boss must be satisfied, as he hums and then bids her goodbye with a ‘give it some proper thought, I’m looking forward to having you back’.

Yaz must end the call and put her phone back in her pocket, but she does not remember doing so, and the next time she blinks her hand is empty whilst the other grips the railing of the balcony tight. The small space suddenly does not feel big enough to hold all she is feeling, and she scrambles away from it and retreats into the safety of their hotel room.

She looks at Jo, sprawled out under the sheets, blonde hair fanning out against the pillows. Her scarred arm is visible flung out of the covers, and Yaz very carefully moves over to tuck it under the sheets. She looks peaceful, no nightmares, it seems, plaguing her in her exhausted slumber. Yaz takes a steadying breath.

Later, she tells herself, repeating her mantra of a couple of days previous, she will speak to Jo about this later. Only, she really will have to this time, the tide of her future is coming in fast and they will get swept up and drown in its depths if they don’t make a plan soon enough. It races with a more violent further, tempting her with notions of a promotion as it washes to and fro on the shore; she could step forward and dip her toes in it if she so desired, just as they had paddled in the shores of Zennor that morning. The plan does not even have to be solid, a protective wall created from sand and seashells, but it will be enough for Yaz to prove that they can feature in each other’s lives together beyond this island they find themselves on, that Jo can find refuge behind that wall with Yaz.

And by the time the tide reaches that wall and swallows it in its maw, Yaz and Jo will be safely behind one made of solid stone. Or perhaps… Sheffield steel. For Yaz is built of that steel, it runs in her blood, and it will not so easily wilt now that she has all these good things before her.

And she knows that steel runs in Jo’s blood, too, if only Yaz can help her find her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought 😀
> 
> See you Thursday!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1 
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> Come say hi!


	22. Gathering Clouds (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love so far, I apologise if there are any mistakes in this I'm really exhausted at the moment so I haven't properly read through this before posting. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy 😊

Buoyed with confidence, Yaz strolls hand in hand with Jo through the streets of St Ives, dodging families with children struggling to eat melting ice cream which drips down their hands and arms, and the occasional harried looking local, irritated look in the eyes. There is the tang of a recent rain shower in the air, the clouds having swooped in low and unexpected to last long enough to disrupt, but not to devastate. Some of the people look frazzled in their bathing suits and kimonos, which hang damply, along with their hair, from their bodies. Peering up at the sky now Yaz can see it is overcast, clouds threatening to swallow the sun from their stares, with only temporary breaks in the billows to provide them with relief.

Yaz herself is determined that the clouds which cover the skyscape of them together, as ‘Jo and Yaz’, and as individuals, be cleared from that sky and leave it blue and clear for both of them to see. The time Jo had spent sleeping that afternoon had afforded Yaz a few hours to weigh up her choices and think them through which equal parts emotion and rationality: Yaz has always been pragmatic, and her mind had felt like a clear sky that afternoon, and she had been able to take the time to come to a decision.

She has decided that she should take the promotion in Sheffield, but she has also decided that she needs Jo in her life, in whatever way possible.

She had considered it, moving down to Kennock Cove, taking Donna up on her offer and beginning again here, just as she had done earlier that week when in a heady romantic haze with Jo, but… She has a loyalty to Sheffield as her home, and to the people who make up Sheffield for her, and a loyalty to herself to prove that she can make the change there, that she is good enough; Wilf’s words have stuck with her, as has the knowledge that the missed promotion had nothing to do with her skills: Yaz is not one to give up easily, and she will ensure she does everything in her power to make Sheffield work for _her._

Yaz could also see that she did not have to think so catastrophically black and white: choosing Sheffield and choosing Jo are not two opposing forces unable to work together. Taking the promotion in Sheffield does not mean saying goodbye to the life she has, however temporary, down here; Jo herself had said on Tuesday evening that Yaz would always have a family in Kennock Cove, and Yaz knows that she will be returning in the future. She cannot have seen all this beauty and serenity just to bid it farewell forever; taking the promotion does not mean she cannot ever leave Sheffield again. It also does not mean saying goodbye to Jo.

Jo… Jo is too important to her for her to let fall to the side lines, to not consider in what she is going to do once the timer is up on her holiday. And why? Well… there is a thought there which might be translated into three simple words, but Yaz is too scared to follow that thought and find those words, such declarations spoken, let alone thought, when so much is uncertain, could be her undoing if things do not go to plan. She focusses, therefore, on what about herself has changed to bring her to this decision _because_ of Jo and all she means to Yaz. She feels more like herself than she has in months, and Jo is a considerable reason for such a reversion, but it is not just a reversion, for Jo has made an indelible mark on Yaz for all the right reasons: she feels happier and stronger, like her old self in her prime but amplified by a hundred. The sparks she has felt for Jo since those very beginning weeks now fuel her innate perseverance, and Yaz feels electric. Determination borne from this buoyancy has her set on reassuring Jo that they can make this work, that Yaz is not going to leave her, even if they might be hundreds of miles apart.

She only hopes the woman does not mind her catalysing this discussion here, when they had wordlessly agreed to focus only on themselves in the moment, only… perhaps this might be the right time, in a romantic atmosphere it might actually do good for Yaz to prove she wants more beyond this. Yaz has noticed, as well, the shadow which has fallen more prominently over Jo over the last couple of days, and she understands that there must be many things going through Jo’s head which make this infinitely more complicated, but… Yaz hopes that if she can prove that she is willing to take Jo and all her baggage and help her carry it then it will relax the tensions around her shoulders somewhat, brighten sometimes ancient eyes.

This is what she hopes to achieve, as she leads Jo towards a restaurant on the harbourfront, Yaz’s choice this time, picked whilst waiting for Jo to awake, and if she doesn’t, if Jo does not understand Yaz’s intentions or does not agree with them, then…. She swallows, a fluttering nervousness travelling through her body, and she almost trips on the pavement’s edge. If Jo cannot accept what Yaz is proposing or the passion she is expressing, of course, that is her right, and if for some reason the darkness which sits around her shoulders like an unwanted cape is _because_ of Yaz… she does not think that is so, as Jo has offered her admiration and affection in both speech and action… but _if_ it is because of that, Yaz thinks it will take a long time for the bitter sting of disappointment and the gaping wound it will leave in her heart and her mind will take a long while to heal, if at all.

In a way, how she feels for Jo is more dangerous than any of the more sedentary, pedestrian feelings she had held for Clara. But Yaz, Yaz at her finest, does not run from danger, not when there are hearts and minds at stake. 

* * *

Yaz pulls her shoulders back and drops them as they wait to be seated at the restaurant on the harbour front, fizzing with anticipation. She glances over at Jo, who seems brighter since her surprise sleep; she had been terribly embarrassed when she has awoken, and had apologised to Yaz profusely, looking disappointed that she had wasted an afternoon when this was, officially, their last full day alone together. Yaz had assured her it was not wasted if Jo had been able to sleep, nightmare free, and get some needed rest; she is not sure Jo agrees with her.

They are seated at a table for two which overlooks the harbour and the small beach nearby which is reached from a slipway nearby. They are a few people milling around, but fortunately, now it has turned from afternoon to evening, many tourists have headed home or are that way turning, as the crowds they had passed on their way to the harbour had been.

A candle sits on the middle of the table and the moment they have sat down and ordered their drinks, tap water for Yaz and some sweet raspberry concoction for Jo, Jo begins to play with the flame, teasing her skin by running her fingers through it quickly, the flame following the movement like a dog eager to have the stick.

“Don’t burn yourself.” Yaz says, peering at her over her menu. 

“It’s like an experiment,” Jo murmurs, eyes on the action of her fingers. “Isn’t that interesting? You can see how long your self-control will last, how long you can go before you can’t stand the heat of the flame anymore.”

Yaz reaches over and gently takes Jo’s hand away from the flame, resting it, held in hers, on the table. “Or, you could not do that.” She replies, pragmatic as always.

Jo looks up at her. “Do you want me to stop?”

Yaz nods, and Jo relents, her hand moving within Yaz’s until their fingers entwined. She focusses on their hands with a single-minded intensity, as if witnessing something marvellous. Yaz is glad she has brought her attention to them and their final night together. 

“I wanted to thank you for today.” Yaz says.

“Why? I fell asleep.” Jo asks, genuinely confused.

Yaz laughs lightly and allows Jo’s hand to slip from her as she picks up her menu once more. “I meant this morning. I took the news about the perp pretty bad, and you helped me to take my mind off it and realise it isn’t all as bad as it seems.”

Jo nods, a small action rather at odds with the open looks she has given Yaz this week with every place they have visited, an open expression expressing admitting everything she was showing Yaz was to thank her and impress her. Right now, it looks rather like she has indigestion, going by the look on her face. “Good.” She replies.

Yaz lets the trail of conversation fall for now, sensing that going directly into it, especially when Jo’s enthusiasm has receded somewhat, might not be the best approach; she will leave it until they have eaten and, fuelled by food and comforted by the feeling, she might be better placed to approach it then.

Conversation falls into the usual pattern, and Yaz feels herself relax, and indeed sees Jo relax as well. Jo regales her with tales of the Irish saint the town is named after, and of the important artists who have all lived in the place and afforded a reputation as an artist’s retreat whilst they devour their meals and drinks and around them the hour gets later until the small festoon lights which hang around them outside the restaurant glow like fireflies. Yaz laughs and wipes away the moustache of tomato sauce Jo gains when being too enthusiastic over the chips she had ordered for the table, and with impressively quick reflexes Jo catches Yaz’s fork when she accidentally knocks it from the table with her elbow. They both find comfort in the sharing of light facts, of the myths and stories which have connected them since Yaz first arrived in Cornwall, and by the time dessert comes around and they both have sickly sweet dishes placed in front of them, Yaz feels at ease to approach the conversation she hopes to have with enough casualness so as not to be overwhelming for Jo.

“So, you know I had that phone call earlier?” She asks as Jo takes a bite of her chocolate fondant dessert. The other woman nods and says through her mouthful, “Your mum?”

“Actually, it weren’t my mum on the phone. It were my boss.” Yaz says.

“Oh?” Jo says, tone raising at the end into a question.

Yaz eagerly continues. “Yeah, he, err… well, you remember I came to Kennock Cove because I didn’t get that promotion? And… we were speculating that had seemed a bit… suspicious that I didn’t get it?”

Jo hums affirmatively.

Yaz sucks in a deep breath and she cannot keep the smile which lingers at the edges of her lips as she reveals, “Well, he was calling to tell me that the first promotion only went to the other guy because of… well, nepotism, essentially, and the station’s received more funding, so there’s another place for sergeant and he’s practically offered me a promotion.”

Jo’s eyes widen almost comically, and her spoon stops halfway between her mouth and plate. “Yaz, that’s….” She blinks and stares for a long moment, and Yaz feels dread creep in before Jo seems to come back to herself and smiles widely, teeth pearly white in the glowing firefly light. “That’s brilliant!”

“You think?” Yaz asks, tone hopeful, dread crawling back inside.

“You deserve it.” Jo affirms. “And that would give you…?”

“It would give me more authority, and a higher pay-check.” Yaz says. “And I would stand more chance of actually making the difference I want to make.”

“That’s fantastic…” Jo says. Her smile wobbles then, and something flickers behind her eyes, like the candle on the table in front of them flickers, and she averts her gaze from Yaz’s, focussing on breaking up her desert with her spoon. “You really do deserve it.”

Yaz licks her lips, her own desert forgotten, and leans forward over the table a little. “Well, it’s got me thinking this afternoon, about things, and about the future and what is going to happen once I have to leave Kennock Cove.”

“Right.” Jo pauses the scarping of her spoon against her plate. “And when is that exactly?”

Yaz brings up her mental calendar. “In just over two weeks.”

“Hmm.” Jo bites her lip, and then proceeds to shovel a large piece of pudding into her mouth. “Right. Okay.” She says through the mouthful.

Yaz takes a deep breath. “I know how little time that sounds, and I just wanted to say to you now that-”

“We should extend our trip.” Jo suddenly says through another spoonful of dessert. “Add a few more days on. There’s still so many places I could show you, this is really just skimming the surface-”

“Jo, what?” Yaz asks, confused and feeling slightly off-kilter owing to the interruption.

“… We didn’t even make it properly all the way to Land’s End.” Jo continues, as if Yaz has not spoken. “I mean, what kind of tour guide does that make me? Not even showing you Land’s End?!”

“Jo, that doesn’t-” Yaz futilely tries to interrupt once again. Jo steamrollers on.

“I can always phone the rental company in the morning, extend it once again…”

“Jo, you’ve got a tour on Saturday, we need to go back tomorrow.” Yaz finally manages to say.

“… Not like they’d complain they’re getting more money from us…. Huh? Oh, that’s not a problem, I can always ask Grace if she’ll do it.”

Yaz shakes her head. This is not going to plan. “That’s not the point. And besides, can we really _afford_ to stay another few days? We’ve spent enough money already.”

Jo waves her off in a casual manner which sends a strange poisonous feeling down Yaz’s body. “I can pay for it. I’m practically loaded, we wouldn’t need your money.” Jo says tactlessly, and Yaz cannot help but bristle at that, the poisonous sensation like acid in her veins.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” She asks, shaking her head. The atmosphere of the evening has changed, it is so tangible she can feel it in the air, like a sudden rainstorm blowing in off the coast. “Jo, come on, that isn’t a good idea.” Yaz tries to reach for Jo’s hand. The other woman has given up on her desert now and instead her fingers of her left-hand play once more with the flame of the candle, moving so quickly that Yaz is almost seeing double. She averts her gaze, focussing instead on trying to catch Jo’s eye, but the other woman is gazing, eyes narrowed in thought, at the harbour which sits behind Yaz. The poison turns to dread, a bitter tasting worry that there is something Yaz is not understanding. The action of Jo’s fingers in the flame does not impress Yaz, but it does tell her the other woman is agitated, and her avoidance of the conversation Yaz was hoping they could have tells her Jo is not ready to have such a discussion. That is alright, Yaz had anticipated that might be the case, but now she needs to help Jo calm and down and see sense, or else both of them might get burnt one way or another this evening. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve said anything to insult you. but I promise I wasn’t going to-”

Something in Jo’s face changes, then. Her eyes become focussed on something on the harbour, and they widen. She flinches slightly, the erratic movement of her fingers stopping, the skin resting over the flames. Yaz exclaims and pushes them out of its path, but Jo seems not to feel the sharp licking of the fire on her fingers, and instead flames of fear flit in her eyes, mixing with a sorrow which makes Yaz’s heart drop.

“Jo, what is it?” She asks. She has the other woman’s hand in her own, and Jo’s burnt fingers are trembling slightly. Yaz peers over her shoulder to see what Jo is looking at, but there is nothing there out of the ordinary, nothing that would incite such an expression as there is on Jo’s face. Something is wrong. But what? Have Yaz’s words seriously caused this much fear and worry? Did she do this?

“Excuse me.” Jo says, and it is too polite a phrasing and she is still gazing at that spot and Yaz is so confounded that when the other woman suddenly stands and moves past her, swinging her legs over the small rope barrier which encloses the outside restaurant space and divides it from the walkway, Yaz does not register what has happened for a moment. She blinks stupidly, shaking her head, and when she notices Jo has gone she pushes her own chair back and follows the other woman.

“Hey!” Their waiter calls as Yaz climbs over the rope.

“Back in a minute!” She calls back over her shoulder.

She calls after Jo as the other woman walks furiously across the harbour front and to the small slipway which leads down onto the beach. It is quiet in the twilight, no one else around, and Yaz spares a thought, briefly, to how odd they must look, but she is too caught up in her concern for Jo in that moment that she cannot bring herself to care.

Jo fumbles her way down the slipway, boots slapping against the tarmac, and Yaz is quick to follow. So quick, and so caught up in following the woman in front of her that she does not stop to consider that the rain shower from earlier might have increased the tarmac’s, already slightly covered in seaweed and other algae, slipperiness, that the surface might not be safe for someone suffering from bruised ribs to travel down at fast speed. Quite honestly, Yaz thinks after the event, she is surprised Jo did not slip, clumsy as she is. However, in that moment she thinks none of this, and so her breath is taken away as her feet slip from under her and she hits the tarmac with a thump that reverberates through her whole body. She feels like a symbol, hitting another symbol, the sound a deep pain throughout her body. However, it is her bruised ribs that play out their tune the loudest, and Yaz gasps, the shuddering breath she finally lets out after what feels like a lifetime, painful to release as they protest. It is like someone has turned the volume up on their aching to one hundred, and the pain returns with renewed vigour after days of healing, and Yaz hears herself swear as she attempts to sit up, finding it difficult.

“Yaz!” A voice calls, and she peers up to see a blonde head of hair and a pale face lined with shock looking over her. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Yaz spits out. “My ribs.”

Jo fumbles to help her sit up, and once vertical Yaz places a hand to her side and tentatively presses against them. She lets out a harsh cry as her ribs protest, and she drops her hand to the cold wet ground beneath her, the cause of this mess.

“Oh my god Yaz I’m so sorry.” Jo replies, distressed. “Do you think they’re broken?”

“I don’t know.” Yaz says. She takes another experimental breath, and when she finds she can fill her lungs up properly, she lets it out again. “I don’t think so but…”

“Maybe we should call an ambulance?” Jo suggests. She is crouched in front of Yaz, the whites of her shins showing as her trousers rise up.

Yaz shakes her head. Whilst the pain is horrifically unpleasant, it does not feel different to how it had when she had first injured her ribs, and quite frankly, she wants to get out her, away from the prying eyes of the restaurant goers and passers-by who she is sure are watching them. “No. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“But don’t you think we should look at them?” Jo asks, hands flapping about in her uncertainty.

“I’m not doing that here in front of everyone!” Yaz protests. She has never been this short with Jo, and she knows regret will sink its teeth in later, but she is too preoccupied in this moment to care. “I just want to go back to the hotel room.”

“Okay. I’ll… I just need to pay for the meal.” Jo says tentatively, and hearing her sound so unsure makes Yaz feel sick.

“Fine.” She replies.

“I’ll be back.” Jo says, and with a brief to Yaz’s shoulder she is gone. Yaz dips her head to her lap and tries to slow her frantic heart rate.

This evening has not gone to plan, and all her prior confidence has been shoved to the side by bewilderment, fear and mortification. Bruised and confused, Yaz quite frankly wants to cry. 

* * *

“No, I can’t feel any cracks, and Yaz says she can’t feel any.” Jo says into the phone which rests between her shoulder and her ear, her other hand carefully prodding Yaz’s side as she checks to make sure her ribs aren’t broken. “Okay, good, that’s good. So, you think the bruising’s just been inflamed?”

Yaz shifts where she is sat on the end of the bed, hand and arm raised for Jo to attend to her ribs, the other woman speaking with Martha on the phone after insisting they call her if Yaz would not go to A&E. The trip back to the hotel had been slow going, and with every step it felt like Yaz’s ribs were being jarred anew. Jo had hovered by her side the whole time, very quiet, and Yaz could practically feel the unspoken words between them in the air.

“Okay, great. Ermm, no, I don’t know, I’ll ask her.” Jo says, shifting a little in her crouched position by Yaz’s side. “Okay, brilliant, thanks Martha.”

Jo hangs up the phone and throws it onto the bed, heaving out a sigh as she rises to her feet. “Martha asked if you still have any of those painkillers she gave you?”

“Ermmm,” Yaz rubs her eyes as she carefully lowers her arm again. “Yeah. They’re in my backpack, I think.”

She feels exhausted, mind and body tired, and she lets Jo lead her across to the other side of the room, to where her backpack rests by one of the two armchairs, and rifle through until she pulls out the bottle of painkillers. It seems as if Jo is eager to help out Yaz, anyway, in a way being overtly attentive to her needs and Yaz lets her.

“Here…” Jo says, twisting the cap off the bottle and handing it to Yaz. She pops briefly into the bathroom to fetch Yaz a glass of water and then she kneels down at Yaz’s side once again, watching as Yaz throws back a pill with a swig of water, letting out a long sigh when she is finished.

“Martha said to keep an eye on them, and that if the pain gets worse, we should definitely get them properly checked out.” Jo says quietly, some of her usual fervour gone. It had been a strange evening for both of them.

Yaz nods but says nothing, not sure quite what to say. She is full of too much confusion and her thoughts swim about her head in a mess of words and feeling, all of them being dominated by pain. At her side, Jo’s fingers tap against her thighs, her head bowed.

“Jo, what the hell happened tonight?” Yaz finally summons the words to ask.

Jo head turns to the side, looking across the room at nothing in particular. Yaz can see a tick in her jaw. “I don’t know.” She answers, and there is something in her tone which tells Yaz she is telling the truth, a helpless despondence. “Yaz…” Jo says after a moment, head turning so she is looking up at the other woman, eyes wide. “I really am so happy for you getting that promotion.”

Yaz smiles, feeling something in her chest ease. “I know.”

“I just…” Jo trails off, and her eyes scrunch shut as if she is the one in pain. She hesitates only a moment before she places her head in Yaz’s lap, and Yaz stiffens in surprise for a moment before she places a hand on Jo’s head, slowly beginning to stroke her hair. Jo makes a noise suspiciously like a whimper. “I just don’t want this week to end.” She confesses, voice ragged.

“Neither do I.” Yaz replies, relieved that Jo is opening up more now instead of trying to frantically change the subject. “But… it has to.”

“I know.” Jo whispers.

“But…” Yaz begins, nerves settling a little in her stomach, but she feels emboldened by Jo’s closeness, and the pain makes her alert, ready. “That’s not to say I want things to end with this week. This has been… amazing, Jo, more amazing than anything or anyone I’ve…” She trails off with a small smile, feeling Jo’s gaze upon her face. She looks down and meets the other woman’s eyes, and speaks before Jo can barely blink, let alone interrupt her. “Look, earlier, I just wanted to say that whatever happens next, in our lives, I don’t want to let you go. Not from here.” She points to her head, and then moves her hand to her chest. “Or here. I would be willing to work something out, whatever it may be. I know that you’re still recovering from River’s death-”

“I don’t know if I ever _will_ recover.” Jo admits, the words slipping from her tongue before she can stop them and catching her by surprise, her hands clenching into the fabric of her trousers.

“I know. I know and that’s fine.” Yaz assures her. “But I just want you to know that even if I’m not there in person I will still deeply care for you. As a friend, as a person, as… well, as whatever we might be. We don’t have to discuss any specifics now, it’s been a long night and I know it’s not as easy as saying yes and no, we’ve got a lot of things to consider, but… You mean so much to me, Jo, I couldn’t have found my confidence in myself again without you, wouldn’t have known how happy I could be.”

Strangely the words come easy, and Yaz thinks perhaps it is because this was spontaneous, not built up to at all. She lets out a long breath, relieved to have finally spoken her thoughts, and anticipatory of Jo’s response.

The other woman’s mouth has fallen open in an ‘o’ shape, and she blinks slowly at Yaz; Yaz can practically see the thoughts whizzing around her brain. “Oh…” She finally says, and she ducks her head down, forehead brushing Yaz’s knees. “I thought you were…”

Yaz remembers a couple of nights ago when they had discussed Jo’s childhood, and something clicks. “Wait, Jo… did you think I were just going to leave you?”

Jo’s silence is enough of an affirmation to make Yaz reach down and cup her face in her hands, forcing Jo to look at her, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “I’m not going to leave you.”

Such a statement must be a relief to Jo, and Yaz does see something relax in the woman’s expression and shoulders, but there is something else still guarded there, and Yaz lets Jo take the lead if she wants to say anything more. The other woman takes in a shaking breath, and she drops her head back down to Yaz’s thighs once again, Yaz’s hand moving once more to her hair.

“I might need… I might need some time.” She admits quietly after a few minutes spent in silence. The painkillers are starting to do their work and Yaz is feeling slightly woozy.

“That’s okay…” She reassures. Jo moves to look up at Yaz, an honesty which burns as fierce as the sun in her eyes.

“But I really do care about you, Yaz. More than I could possibly say. More than I could show.”

Yaz’s heart feels fit to burst, and she is not sure whether it is emotion or the painkillers which make her head swim. Jo seems unwilling to talk about why she had so suddenly bolted for the harbour earlier, and Yaz herself is too tired to connect the dots between that occasion and the similar one earlier that day at Zennor. Plus, Jo seems content to have this moment of stillness between them, of reassurance that despite all that has happened this evening their feelings are the same; their small boat has not capsized in the large ocean waves.

“Come on.” She says, voice slurring slightly with exhaustion. “Let’s go to bed.”

Yaz summons the energy to kick off her shoes, and Jo helps her with her jeans and her shirt before sliding a t-shirt over Yaz’s head and carefully guiding her arms into the sleeves. After sliding into pyjama shorts Yaz climbs under the covers, settling on her good side. Jo moves into the bathroom and Yaz lets her eyes flicker shut. Having Jo help her dress was not how Yaz had hoped this night would go, but she supposes that careful attention and care is just as precious coming from the woman she…

Yaz is asleep before she can finish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading- I took artistic license with this one there isn't really a restaurant right on the harbour in St Ives but it made for drama so...! 
> 
> See you Sunday! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	23. Gathering Clouds (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I say this like every update but this one i mean it doubly so: I'm really nervous! I really hope you enjoy this. Thank you for all the support so far.
> 
> TW: emotional distress bordering on a panic attack (please see the end notes for a more detailed TW- I don't want to spoil the plot but i do want to ensure people feel safe reading) If you have any more questions you can find me on Tumblr @ walker-lister and Twitter @walkerlister1 😊

Yaz wakes early, head woozy, feeling detached from her body and reality. She blinks against the wan light of early morning, unfamiliar features of their hotel room coming into focus around her as she reorients, coming out of a heavy sleep.

Her gaze flits around the room as she breathes deep, relishing in the magical work of the medication which flows through her blood. She cautiously stretches an arm out, reaching for something, although she is not sure what, only that she realises it, or _they,_ are not there as her hand finds cool bedsheets. There is a light breeze drifting in through the door which leads to the balcony, curtain fluttering lightly, and Yaz can see a figure silhouetted against the curtain, and she knows it must be Jo.

The woman had slept the previous afternoon, and so there is a reasonable explanation as to why she is not asleep now, but Yaz still speculates. River’s ever-present ghost, and Yaz worries the ghosts of her childhood, too, has been slipping into Jo’s dreams and that shadowed place behind her eyes and in her thoughts with more fervour in the last few days, and it worries Yaz. She cannot understand, not properly, what Jo must be going through, but she can be _understanding,_ and the woman’s clear regret at whatever had occurred last night, her practically begging to be forgiven, tell Yaz her intentions are in the right place as regards Yaz, and she certainly takes Yaz’s feelings into consideration, but sometimes… she is misguided by her grief. Yaz only wishes there were more she could do than being a reassuring presence; it is difficult to see the woman struggle.

She watches that figure, blurry and distorted by the shroud which conceals them, out of Yaz’s reach, until her eyes fall shut again, and she drifts off to sleep. 

* * *

Yaz wakes again to a raging pain in her side, and she gasps herself awake, wincing as her ribs feel like they have been hit with a heavy hammer. The painkillers must have worn off; she better not take any more if she has any hopes of driving today.

The light in the room is brighter, and as Yaz cautiously sits up the door to their room opens and Jo comes in with a tray in her hands, a tray laden with breakfast foods and two cups of tea. The other woman is already dressed, long-sleeves covering her arms, and she smiles slightly hesitantly as she spots that Yaz is awake.

“Mornin’.” She greets. “Got you breakfast.”

“Mornin’.” Yaz greets back, shuffling to lean against the pillows behind her back as Jo place the tray on the bedsheets next to her, perching on the edge. “This is… nice.”

“Consider it another apology for last night.” Jo says, looking bashful and embarrassed. “You were excited about your promotion and about the future and I was too caught up in worrying about myself that I didn’t stop to think.”

“Jo, it’s fine. We’ve cleared it up, okay?” Yaz insists, and at Jo’s nod she sighs, taking in the dark circles under the other women’s eyes, her pale face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” Jo answers immediately.

“Did you sleep?”

Jo shrugs. “I’ve messed up my body clock by sleeping yesterday afternoon.” She says jokingly, and Yaz gives her a long look for a moment before she nods and relents. They are both delicate right now, still feeling a little unbalanced from last night’s events, and she thinks if she were to poke at Jo, the other woman might go toppling over completely, and that would not help either of them. They should savour the last morning here together and fall into their affections for each other which make it easier to breathe.

“How are you?” Jo asks her, eyes dropping in concern to Yaz’s side. “How are your ribs?”

“Still painful.” Yaz admits, and she winces as she shifts to sit up a bit straighter. “Stupid things…”

“We can take it slow this morning.” Jo says. “We’ve got time.”

She sits right on the edge of the bed, as if unsure whether she can approach Yaz, and Yaz hates it.

“Will you share breakfast with me?” Yaz asks her. She feels strangely needy for a simple, almost domestic, act shared between them, an assurance, perhaps, that they are alright in this moment.

Yaz does not notice Jo tense for a single second, the action imperceptible, and she smiles when Jo relaxes, head tipping to the side as she seems to find the same comfort in such a proposition as Yaz.

“Sounds brilliant.” Jo replies. “Breakfast with Yaz.”

She shuffles further onto the bed, kicking off her shoes as she does, until she is sitting next to Yaz. She very lightly brushes their shoulders, and Yaz feels something untie in her chest. She dips her head to Jo’s shoulder as the other woman takes charge and starts slathering jam onto a piece of toast, taking care not to put too much on, to suit Yaz’s tastes. Yaz takes it gratefully, and, feeling brave, she presses a kiss to the other woman’s cheek.

She feels Jo relax, and then the other woman is similarly placing a kiss to Yaz’s cheek, and Yaz moves her head so that the next kiss is on her lips, and then then toast is forgotten for the thrill of each other’s mouths. Jo chases Yaz with a ferocity just short of desperation, and Yaz lets herself sink deeper into their intimacy as they both reassure each other of their presence and that, although the air is shifting around them, and time is ticking on, their feelings have not changed for each other.

“I meant what I said, last night.” Yaz says when they eventually break apart. She is sure their tea must be cold by now.

“I know.” Jo answers. “I just… I just need some more time. It’s not that I don’t-” She begins to ramble, and Yaz decides to jump in and reassure her before their relaxed atmosphere is lost.

“I understand. Let’s not think of it for now, yeah? Let’s… let’s leave it until we’ve had a chance to get back to Kennock Cove and collect our thoughts. And maybe get a fresh pair of clothes. I think I’m going to have to bust out a shirt for the third time.”

Jo laughs, a relieved sound, and shakes her head at Yaz fondly.

“You’re always so practical, pragmatic.” She observes.

“Not always.” Yaz admits. “You helped me realise that I’m actually good at my job, and that it was the idiots at my work who didn’t recognise that. You helped me see I had it in me all this time.”

Jo smiles softly, and there is something almost wistful in the way she says. “Well, I am glad I have helped with something.” 

* * *

If Yaz had been hoping for a peaceful end to a trip they are reluctant to see the back of, the persistent nagging of her ribs dictates otherwise. So, too, she will come to see, does the tempest which has been raging quietly within Jo, bubbling over the surface. And this time, Yaz is not sure how she can help the woman find shelter from the storm. 

Yaz bites her lip, sucking in a sharp breath as she raises herself out of the armchair. Her ribs are a constant low moan, a discordant wailing in her side which seems to intensify with every small shift she makes. It is continuous, grinding down Yaz’s determination, and when Jo exits from the bathroom and gives Yaz a concerned look to see her hard efforts, Yaz admits defeat and says, “Jo, I don’t know whether I’m going to be able to drive like this.”

“Ah.” Jo says grimacing, freezing on the spot. Her palms come together in front of her and she begins to rub them together worriedly. Yaz understands this is quite the predicament, but she knows her own limits, no matter how much in this moment she resents them.

She is not sure what they are going to do; perhaps they could take the train? But it would mean connections and being jolted from train to train and another large chunk of money gone. Taxi? That would be exorbitant, she is sure. And they couldn’t possibly phone and ask for someone from Kennock Cove to drive down to meet them. And what, then, would they do with the rental car? They are well and truly stuck…

In front of her, Jo sucks in a breath and looks up, shoulders dropping, face steely. “I’ll drive.” She says.

Yaz blinks. “But… you can’t drive.”

“I can, actually, did I not mention that?” Jo asks with a wince, and before Yaz has a moment to question that the other woman is peddling into action, whizzing around the room and grabbing their overnight bags and the keys to the car which Yaz had left on a small side table. “I’ll go and put these in the car. I’ll be right back…”

“Wait, what do you mean you can drive?” Yaz asks, but Jo is already out the door, out of earshot and out of reach. Yaz huffs, and tries to get her head around yet another thing which seems off. Jo had distinctly told her she could not drive, hence why Yaz has been doing it for the whole of this trip and why she was feeling so guilty and fretting over how they were going to reach Kennock Cove just now. Irritation rises quickly and sits on her shoulder like a fuming dragon, breathing out angry smoke from its nostrils.

If Yaz did not have, by Jo’s description, a pragmatism honed by years on the police force, honing her better qualities to the best of her ability, she might have let that irritation needle in beside the concern which sits in her gut and convince her to confront Jo on what exactly she is keeping from Yaz. That dragon hisses of the unfairness, of indignation. It seethes, turning images of Jo, eyes far off and pushing away Yaz’s words at the restaurant table, of the woman alone on the balcony in the night, away from Yaz, into fuel for the fire of its fury. They have shared the same space now for days and admitted to affections which Yaz is certain were not affectations, and yet the woman is closed off, and the dragon feasts on anger at Jo for still being captured in her mind, for not confiding in Yaz when she has made it clear she can come to her for anything, for not being wholly _together_ with her. Using the pain which already grates at her nerves, the dragon tries to persuade to harness her tongue ready to snap at Jo the moment she walks back into the room. Only…

Yaz takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back and settling that dragon back down whilst rationality rebuts with its own defence. Jo has trusted her with a lot, more than one might expect for someone who had been a stranger not even two months ago, helped by the deep trust between them fuelled by a spark which meant they hit it off from the very beginning. They have fallen easily into each other’s company, into each other’s minds, and into each other’s hearts. Jo has exposed vulnerable parts of herself, and so has Yaz, and by doing so they have been a source of comfort for each other. However, they have fallen fast, and Yaz is not surprised if there are things which Jo has kept from her, it is her right to choose when she should confide, if ever; Yaz cannot blame her for not producing a long list of the things that bother her. Images of the woman alone, cut off from Yaz, are replaced with images of her coming to Yaz for comfort: kissing her at Zennor, wrapping her in her arms after her nightmare in Wilf’s annexe, her tearful apology the night before at her display at dinner, her shame at Yaz’s getting hurt because of her. She is not withholding on purpose; she is not hurting Yaz on purpose. So, if she finds it necessary, in her mind, to lie to Yaz…

Something cold trickles down Yaz’s spine, chiming into that same worry that anger had just threatened to capture in its grasp, replacing it with dread. There is something else at play here, something unknown to Yaz which has convinced Jo that lying is the best option, which had dared to almost cause Yaz to doubt the affection between them… no, there is no faking what they have, tears and secrets whispered on starlit nights do not come through deceit. So Yaz straightens, lets her shoulders relax, maintains, as best he can with aching ribs, the posture she adopts when she is PC Yasmin Khan, and not someone to be messed with. Not knowing feeds into her insecurity that she will not be able to help Jo, and so she harnesses that uncertainty to send that dragon to the corner of the room, and in doing so hopefully she will demonstrate to Jo that, whatever it is that has kept her from confiding in Yaz and convinced her that lying is necessary, need not be what dictates how she manages whatever she is thinking.

Jo comes bustling back into the room, then, barely turning to look at Yaz, hands grasping for their rucksacks and then, finally, _finally,_ she looks at Yaz. She smiles, too bright and wide and all together unconvincing. A performance. Yaz’s stomach twists. “You ready to go Yaz?” Jo asks.

“Jo, are you sure you’re okay to drive? Only you told me you couldn’t.” Yaz says firmly. She frames it with an attempt not to come off as either overly concerned, and therefore pushy, or angry and demanding. She wants to establish whether it is for the best as to whether the woman _should_ drive, leaving questions about lying which might come off as accusations for later. Perhaps, Yaz speculates, she is averse to driving because she would be in control of the machine which killed her wife, which must be a strange feeling bordering on horrific.

“Yeah, I did say that didn’t I?” Jo says, nose scrunching up. Her eyes flicker to Yaz’s face and then linger, and she bites the inside of her cheek, and Yaz can see she knows she has been caught. “You’re… you’re not angry?”

Yaz lets out a long sigh. “No, no I’m not angry. I just want to make sure you should be driving.”

“I don’t really have any other choice, Yaz.” Jo replies. “You can’t, you shouldn’t, not when you’re in that much pain, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further.”

“I understand that but if you shouldn’t be driving you shouldn’t be driving.” Yaz counters.

“I…” Jo’s put her hand out in front of her, fingers splayed as she tries to explain. “I should do this. I _need_ to do this.”

Yaz can sense there is something more behind the word ‘need’ than just their current predicament, but there is a wary look, like a cornered animal, in Jo’s eyes and Yaz knows that to ask why she lied at this moment might make things worse. Instead, she respects Jo’s space but says kindly yet firmly, “Just let me know if you need a break, yeah?”

Jo takes a deep breath, and she nods, shooting Yaz a small smile. Good. A smile is just a small slice of normality in this strange turn of events. Everything in the past twenty-four hours has felt a little off, as if the world has shifted, or soon will shift, like the feeling one gets before a thunderstorm, a crackling in the air, and Yaz realises she will have to be strong enough to withstand any oncoming storms. Seeing the small smile Jo gives her, appreciating Yaz’s efforts and trying her best to demonstrate her own back, is a small shelter against that storm. 

* * *

Yaz wakes to a harsh sound which grates on her nerves, its constant repetitiveness irritating. She shifts, making a small sound of discontent in the back of her throat. What is that sound? She should open her eyes and find out, only they feel weighted down by heavy weights.

When she finally peels her eyes open, she thinks it is night at first, and she panics, wondering how long she has been asleep, and then suddenly wondering when she _had_ fallen asleep in the first place. What is the last thing she remembers?

She remembers…. She remembers anger, and then worry swooping in to take its place, and then she remembers sitting in a car and reluctantly taking a painkiller at Jo’s insistence. The pain had been bad, really bad, and Yaz had eventually given in… something feels wrong about that, as if she didn’t want to do it, and the thought, or perhaps the medication, leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She smacks her lips and forces herself to sit up a bit straighter, realising she is slumped against a hard and uncomfortable surface. As she shifts the pain in her ribs is little more than a low thrum, the medication Yaz had taken turning to volume down low. Yaz rubs at her eyes, trying to clear her head as she becomes more cognisant of her surroundings.

Rain. It is rain, she realises, which is causing the repetitive pounding against the windows of their car- yes, they are in a car- and the movement of the windscreen wipers catches Yaz’s eyes and she peers out of the front window, trying to determine much beyond the road in front of them, but it is difficult, their surroundings obscured by the ferocious battering of rain. Clouds sit low in the sky, and Yaz realises it is no wonder she thought it was night when she first awoke, so oppressive and gloomy they are. They feel strangely poignant, and Yaz forces herself to wake up fully, to ponder over _why_ a storm feels so significant.

Her mind scours memories, and she freezes in her seat as she remembers. Of course, the strange revelation of a lie and the worried speculation over what had caused it; Yaz had settled on watching out for Jo and gifting her privacy, only… Yaz had fallen asleep. She had been in too much pain and had taken a painkiller and fallen asleep.

She looks over at Jo in the driver’s seat, and in the murky light of the storm the other woman is caught in shadow. Her hands are tense on the wheel, face pale and lined and she is muttering under her breath, although Yaz cannot make out the words they are constant and repetitive. As Yaz blinks the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, she can see those hands are trembling ever so slightly.

Yaz feels something horrid settle, like the bitter taste in her mouth has spread to her lungs, and her breathing shifts ever so slightly. Jo looks different in the dreary maw of the storm, and for the first time since they sealed their affections for each other with a kiss Yaz feels like she cannot reach out and touch, like she cannot soothe her with her touch or bring her around from this waking nightmare with a kind word or two.

Thoughts and memories begin to connect in Yaz’s mind as she watches Jo grip ever tighter to the steering wheel with spindly fingers. Her sleeves, Yaz realises, are rolled up, and scars gleam savagely in the lowlight, and they are like a stabbing pain to Yaz’s chest as her mind makes a constellation, a picture, out of the fragments she has.

The memories she has of this week are precious diamonds, treasures she will keep forever, tucked in a special place in her heart, and not simply because of the happiness she has felt, but because of the feeling of _togetherness_ with the woman she has so rapidly fallen into orbit with, the two of them crashing together like meteors. Yaz and Jo, as one. And as one, Yaz understands that part of Jo which will always be tied to River which will sit within her and within _them,_ and she has never minded it, could not honestly say she cares for Jo as much as she does without having to understand and accept that part, but… in understanding therein lies the problem. Yaz wishes she could take some of the burden of Jo’s grief, if it were to make the woman more confident, lighter, as light as she had been the first couple of days when the excitement of the newness of ‘them’ had overpowered all. Except….

Yaz has noticed, of course she has, the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the unsettled looks on Jo’s face. Something has been building. Yaz had thought Jo’s lie had come out of the blue, had at first thought it unknowable, and whilst she does not fully understand precisely why Jo lied, she can see now this is the climax of something which has been brewing, something which Jo has now been forced to confront head-on, and Yaz is not sure she was ready. No. She _knows_ the other woman was not ready because she has seen Jo at her strongest, fighting off demons, and she has also known and assured Jo that when she cannot keep them at bay Yaz will be there to comfort her, that they can find peace in their togetherness, and this time she had not turned _to_ Yaz, she had turned _from_ her.

Jo, who had not wanted this trip to end, who had seemed distraught at the thought of Yaz leaving her, is now driving them towards the end and has cut herself off from Yaz, shrouded in mystery and captured by distress. This is not… this is not good, and Yaz swallows the guilt which swoops down and tells her she should not have fallen asleep and instead focuses on what action she can take now.

They need to stop the car. Jo cannot go on like this, it is agonising to watch.

Yaz decides not to startle her with words and makes an effort of moving her body about as if coming out of sleep. She clutches at the door to lever herself upwards, feet moving in the footwell, and lets out a long sigh. That should, surely, make Jo aware of her being awake.

The other woman, however, does not respond to Yaz’s movements, and Yaz dares to take it further by coughing to make her presence known, letting out a small groan involuntarily when the action strains her lungs against her ribs. She does not dare touch Jo, as much as she longs to.

The woman does not react to that, either, but Yaz watches as she quickly changes gear, hand clamping immediately back onto the steering wheel like a limpet once she has done so. In between the harsh clambering of sheets of rain against the car, Yaz picks up what she is saying.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” She is muttering over and over and over.

All determination Jo has displayed earlier when she had asserted that she could drive the car has obviously left her, and Yaz’s heart clenches for her, a sorrow so oppressive coming over her tears begin to sting her eyes. She does not have time to dwell on those tears, however, as they are travelling at speed with a driver who really should not be at the wheel, a driver who’s welfare Yaz is incredibly concerned about, and who she needs to try and get to stop the car and pull over as soon as possible.

The normal approach Yaz would take to calming someone like this has obviously not worked, and so she tries something different, and she very calmly and soothingly begins her own mantra. “You _can_ do it, you _can,_ I know you can.”

Jo shifts, eyes widening in surprise, and the car jolts a little as she takes her foot off of the accelerator suddenly, muscle memory fortunately kicking in as she replaces it a moment later. Her mantra has stopped and Yaz, having been surprised by the sudden jolting, resumes hers, swooping into the silence and claiming it and Jo’s attention.

“Yaz?” Jo asks, tone a touch higher than normal, strained with stress.

“It’s me, Jo, you’re alright, you can do this.” Yaz reassures her, and Jo glances her way very quickly before her eyes fix back on the road in front of them. They are coming to a junction, Yaz can see, and Jo gasps slightly and slows the car, breaking as they pull up to it. Car stream across in front of them as the smaller country road they had been taking merges with a main road, their headlights small fireflies in the gloom. There had been fireflies at the restaurant, too, in the festoon lights.

“I can’t, Yaz, I can’t do it.” Jo says, voice breaking. Yaz swoops in again before the mantra can pick back up again and Jo begins to panic.

“I need you to stop the car for me, can you do that?” Yaz asks her gently but firmly. She glances up at the road in front of them. “Look, there’s a layby up there, just across the main road. Can we reach that?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Jo says between sharp breaths. Yaz remembers when she had first begun learning to drive, the terror of going out on the road for the first time, the fear of crashing; Jo looks like that only ten times worse. Her fear comes from somewhere much darker, and Yaz is desperately trying to be the light that draws her away from that darkness.

Jo edges out onto the main road very carefully, with Yaz’s calm encouragement in her ear, and they cross with no trouble, and Yaz thinks they might be out of the woods, might be clear to reach that layby, but then…

There is a low rumbling and from somewhere in front of them lightning flashes, and at that moment a car comes careening around the corner on the other side of the road, headlights blaring on full beam, and Jo lets out a shout, and the car lurches forwards and she twists the steering wheel to the side and before Yaz can even process it is happening they are careening off the road and into a ditch which rests on the side of the road, just before the layby.

So close, and yet so far from safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More detailed TW: Jo suffers emotional distress bordering on a panic attack whilst driving and crashes the car into a ditch on the side of the road
> 
> Thank you for reading! I really hope I handled the heavier aspects of this appropriately- i have never been in such a situation as this so i apologise if there is anything out of place, etc.
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	24. Whiplash (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger everybody, I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> TW: shock, slight panic attack, brief discussion of injuries incurred in past car crash

Yaz feels as if she her mind has been left behind in the moment before the car had gone careening into the ditch and that her body is seconds ahead of it, already thrown harshly forwards and then backwards as the car seat had caught her, and is now slammed back into her seat. By the time her brain has caught up with the physical movement her body has just gone through, she becomes aware of the tightness in her chest. Why does her chest feel tight? She looks down. Oh. The seatbelt which had prevented her from careening through the front window is tight against her, holding her in her seat, and Yaz reaches down to unbuckle it, letting out a long deep breath once she is freed from its embrace. She is thankful that she is still numbed from pain by the medication she had taken when they had left St Ives, as it spares her fresh lancing pain in her ribs and instead diminishes it to a low throb.

Yaz twists her neck cautiously one way and another, and when she has no trouble moving she is assured she has not got whiplash. She wiggles her legs and her feet. Okay. Good. She’s fine aside from her ribs and the probably bruise she has acquired from the seat belt; the crash had not been that hard, but it is always wise to check just in case. She glances out of the front window, and she sees the car has not fared as well as her: there is smoke coming from under the bonnet, the metal top creased like fabric from where it has impacted with the ditch. Yaz swears under her breath. She is in an alright condition, the car is not, but what about…

“Jo?” She says, panic in her tone as she turns to look at the other woman. She almost loses it, then, when she sees Jo crumpled slightly over the steering wheel, the airbag had not activated which reassures Yaz _slightly_ that this was not as bad as it could have been, but her heart settles back in its rightful place in her chest when she notices the other woman actually has her head in her hands and is muttering under her breath to herself, fingers clawing deeply into her scalp.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” Jo is murmuring, and Yaz can see her legs are moving up and down, trembling, and in fact her whole body is trembling, moving backwards and forwards in a rocking motion. She looks to be in shock.

Concern floods Yaz. A car crash: this would be incredibly unsettling for Jo, and it appears as if the full force of what has just happened has hit Jo and folded her composure and resolve in half just like the bonnet has been folded in half; she was barely hanging onto it before and this is the final nail in the coffin.

“Jo.” Yaz moves carefully, and she holds a hand out by Jo’s side, there to notify her of her presence and to take if she wants to. “It’s okay. We’re alright. I’m alright.”

“Oh, god. _Shit.”_ Jo says, and Yaz watches with a wince as her fingernails dig deeper into her scalp.

“Jo, does anything hurt?” Yaz asks her. Practicality sets in; she needs to know what step to take next. “Jo.” She repeats. “I need you to tell me if anything hurts.”

“Just my chest.” Jo mumbles. “From the seatbelt.”

Yaz almost asks her if she is sure it is the seatbelt which caused that harm, but then she realises: Jo would know what being in a car crash feels like, and the bruising from the seat belt must be like being greeted by an old disagreeable acquaintance. Yaz decides to try and keep her grounded, reassured, helping herself in the process; if she can focus on this, she can get them out of this and to safety. Then…. Then they can go from there.

“Yaz!” Jo suddenly cries, and her head springs up, eyes wide in panic and fear as she looks to Yaz. “Yaz! Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Yaz assures her. “Got the same seat belt bruising as you, and I’m really hoping my ribs haven’t given up and just snapped on me but otherwise I’m okay.”

“Don’t say that, they could puncture your lung!” Jo says, panic filling her eyes as she looks down at Yaz’s torso. “You could puncture a lung, or you could have been crushed! Your legs, your-”

Yaz intervenes swiftly, realising with a pang to her stomach that Jo is recounting what happened to River, is terrified the same might have happened to Yaz even though the crash was far less severe and not life threatening.

“Jo, Jo, no, it’s alright I was joking.” Yaz says. “I can breathe fine. It’s okay, they’ve just been jarred. I’m fine, alright? We’re fine. It’s all fine.”

Was it, though? 

“Oh, god.” Jo says, putting her head in her hand and sounding close to tears.

“Hey!” A voice suddenly calls, and Yaz jumps when a finger taps at her passenger window and a worried looking woman peers in, her long black hair sweeping down in front. “You okay?”

Yaz reaches for the handle and winds the window down. “We’re fine.” She tells the other woman.

“You sure?” She asks, an Irish lilt to her voice. She looks from Yaz to Jo, pausing at the site fo the other woman. “Is she okay?”

Yaz glances back at Jo, who still has her head in her hands and is trebling violently.

“Do you want me to call you an ambulance?” The woman offers, and at that Jo’s head springs up quickly, and she is shaking it furiously.

“No, no ambulances….”

“No, it’s fine…” Yaz says, wetting her lips with her tongue, thinking fast. “Hey… do you know how far we are from a village called Kennock Cove?”

“Err…” The woman turns to look at someone behind her, and soon enough a man is poking his head in, sandy hair sticking to his face in the rain.

“Kennock Cove you say?” He asks, and at Jo’s nods he says, “Yeah, it’s ‘bout fifteen minutes away.”

Yaz lets out breath. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s alright, I can phone my friend. His grandma is a nurse, they can come and help.”

“You sure?” The man asks with a wary glance at Jo, who is back to head in hands, and Yaz can see she is crying now. “Only… she don’t look good.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Yaz says, tone firmer. Although these people are only trying to help what they really need now is to be left alone so that Yaz and Jo can deal with this without interference. “Thank you for your concern, but really, it’s fine.”

“Alright, but… we’ll stay until your friend arrives.” The woman says, glancing out across the road. “Our cars just over there in the layby… do you want to?”

“We’ll stay here.” Yaz asserts. “You really don’t have to stay…”

“We’ll wait in our car.” The man says with a nod. “It’s pissing it down, but we do want to make sure you’re safe.”

Yaz sighs, compromising. “Okay. Thank you, thank you again….”

The couple wander off with kind smiles and sympathetic glances in Jo’s direction, and as soon as they are gone Yaz winds the window up again and turns back to Jo. Her left side is wet, now, from the rain which had come in the open window.

“Jo, I’m going to call Ryan, okay? Get him and Grace to come in their car.”

Jo nods, taking a sharp breath on a sob, trying to calm herself down but failing badly. “Y-Yaz…” She tries to say past her shaky breathing. “I’m so-sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Yaz assures her again. She fumbles into her pocket for her mobile. “Let’s just get Ryan on the way and then we can move if you want?”

Jo does not reply, and Yaz hesitates for a moment for a response before she pulls out her phone and dials Ryan’s number.

“ _Hey, Yaz! How’s it going…”_

Yaz cuts off Ryan’s playful, teasing tone with urgency. “Ryan, I need you to come and get us right now.”

 _“What? Yaz, what’s happening?”_ Ryan asks, all playfulness gone from his tone.

Yaz quickly recounts what has happened, giving him the bare details and reassuring him that they are not seriously injured but that it would be best if Grace could come anyway, that they are not so far from Kennock Cove.

 _“Yaz, yeah, ‘course! We’ll be there real soon! Could you send me your location?”_ Ryan asks once Yaz has finished talking, taking a deep breath which catches at her ribs and makes her wince.

“Yeah.” Yaz hesitates, looking over at the distraught Jo. “And Ryan? If she can, get Amy here, too.”

Yaz fears this is all going beyond what she can help with, she fears she will not be able to do enough now to help bring Jo out of this; Amy needs to be here.

Ryan rings off after assuring Yaz he will call Amy right away, and Yaz slips her phone back into her pocket, shifting to turn to Jo.

“Jo, can I touch you?” She asks. This is a rocky sea and Yaz feels helpless in her little rowboat without an oar to guide her to shore. Guilt and indecision battle within her, and Yaz has to swallow back the panic in her throat, the self-loathing which rises suddenly and savagely. There were _signs_ something like this might happen, she should have protested more vehemently that Jo did not have to drive the car. She had been the one to profess she would always help Jo, and yet she had not been there until everything was spiralling. But she didn’t know, she tries to tell herself, she had no idea that _this_ would cause such a bad reaction, so what more could she do?

Yaz might never know that answer, but there is no changing the past now, only focussing on the present.

“Jo, do you want to move?” There is a small shake of the head, and with the way Jo is shaking Yaz wonders if she is even capable of moving right now. Yaz repeats her earlier question, “Can I touch you?”

Another small nod, and Yaz, gratefully, puts a hand on Jo’s upper arm, rubbing it slowly and comfortingly. Jo feels unreachable, right now, shoulders hunched in and head still held within her hands.

The wait for Ryan and the others to arrive feels like a lifetime, and Yaz goes over the events of the past few days one hundred times over. The only conclusion she comes back with every time is that there is nothing she can do about what she might or might not have done before but she can sure as hell help Jo out now; she hopes that insisting Amy be called upon might be the first good move.

The only positive Yaz can find is that in the time it takes for Ryan to finally pull up on the road in front of them, swerving in behind the couple waiting in their car, is that it stops raining, although Yaz fears another storm might soon follow the first.

Yaz breathes out a sigh of relief as she sees Ryan dart out of the car, moving to the back passenger seat and collecting Grace’s first aid bag, whilst Grace strides over to them, followed by a ball of fire in human form in the shape of Amy Pond. Yaz barely registers the couple pull away in their car and give her a small wave as they pass.

“Yaz! Mate, you alright?” Ryan says, pulling open Yaz’s passenger side door. Yaz keeps her hold on Jo’s arm but turns her head to face Ryan.

“We’re fine, I think. Just… just a shock.”

Ryan steps back then and allows his grandmother to take his place, Grace’s face kind and yet focussed, years of nursing falling easily back into place. “Yaz, love. Can you move? How ‘bout we both get you of this car? Then I can take a better look at you.”

Yaz nods, and she turns around to help Jo, only Amy is already there, opening the driver’s door and crouching down in front of her friend, ginger hair fanning out across her shoulders, slightly flat in the miserable weather, curls losing their usual lustre. Everything seems a little duller than it usually does.

Yaz allows Grace and Ryan to help her from the car and then they are leading her to a small bank on the side of the road which allows Yaz to sit down whilst still being at a reachable level for Grace to check her over without having to bend down too much. Throughout her examination Yaz keeps a close eye on Jo, watching Amy speak to the other woman until eventually she can persuade her to get out of the car and over to the bank for Grace to have a look at her. Jo remains hunched in on herself the entire time, although when Amy sits down on the bank next to her, she leans and place her head on her shoulder. Amy sighs, hand rubbing Jo’s shoulder, and she meets Yaz’s eye over the other woman’s’ head. Yaz tries to communicate her regret through that look, and although she does not know whether Amy gets the message, her concerned eyes hold no anger and she nods very slightly.

Yaz lets out a gasp when Grace’s pressing against her ribs is enough to slice through the slight dulling of the painkillers, and the other woman apologises to her but continues to poke. In front of them, Ryan is examining what lies under the now damaged car’s bonnet. It looks fairly bust up to Yaz.

“The good news is, love, there’s no cracks in the bones and no breaks. They are tender, though, so-”

“I slipped and fell yesterday.” Yaz explains.

“Ahh, I see.” Grace says, and she stands back, hands on her hips and a warm expression on her face. “A fall and a car crash and they still haven’t broken on you.”

“Sheffield steel, that’s what it is.” Yaz says with a tired smile.

“Otherwise, love, you’re alright. Sheffield steel is right.” Grace gives her a kind squeeze of the shoulder. “Let me just see to Jo, love.”

When Grace reaches Jo, she bends forward a little to place a hand on Jo’s shoulder and Jo finally raises her head. Her eyes are rimmed read and wet streaks shine on her pale face from her tears. She looks defeated, lost, and Yaz has never seen Jo so out of control before, all those brighter aspects of herself have taken cover against the onslaught. Yaz’s stomach churns, and she is suddenly so relieved that Amy and Grace are here too to support them both: she has been able to help Jo in the past because the other woman has let her in, has been able to admit she needs help with the emotions within her, but now… now it looks like even Jo has no idea what is happening to her, and Yaz feels incredibly helpless.

This week has been a whirlwind of emotions, and Yaz is left with wind rushing in her ears, head spinning. Whiplash.

Ryan comes over to her whilst the other three women are preoccupied, and he purses his lips together, shaking his head. “Car don’t look great, Yaz, not gonna lie to ya.”

Yaz sighs. “I should sort that out, explain to the company what happened-”

“Mate, don’t worry, I can do that for you.” Ryan assures her, perching on the bank next to her.

“You sure?” Yaz asks. It is, she realises, the middle of the day in the working week, and she suddenly becomes aware that they all must have dropped whatever they were doing to come to her aid. When Ryan nods Yaz lets out a long sigh and feels her throat tighten with gratuity. “Ryan, thank you…”

“No bother. This is nasty man…” He shakes his head and glances Jo’s way. “Is she going to be alright?”

Yaz lets out another sigh. “I don’t know…”

“Nan, when she came back from Falmouth, she said you two had been getting closer…”

Yaz nods, and that brings a small smile to her lips. “Yeah, we were. We are. We… well, it’s been a busy week.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryan smiles, and raises his eyebrow suggestively. Yaz snorts and rolls her eyes, giving him a light shove. It is the lightest she’s felt since yesterday, and it is a balm to her weary mind and body.

Sitting still next to Ryan Yaz feels the events of the past day and the sudden shock of the crash, start to take their toll, and she curls her hands into fists, taking deep breaths as the sudden urge to cry overcomes her. It is not as if she has never witnessed a car crash before, being on the force she has seen many, and she has been able to process those images and manage them, as is her duty as an officer. In this case, it is rather what this car crash means: for her, for Jo, for her _and_ Jo together… they will need to talk about this, and although Yaz is not blind, and obviously whatever this is all about is different, for some reason, than the things Jo has trusted her with already, Yaz needs to know she has done all she can to help Jo. She needs the other woman to know Yaz is not angry, she needs the other woman to know nothing has changed in Yaz’s feelings. It will assuage some of the guilt which sits heavy in her gut, despite her best efforts not to take it out on herself. She supposes she will feel guilty seeing the woman she… seeing Jo in pain, when there is not much Yaz can do except hold a bandage to the wound and whisper sweet comforts in her ear. It pains Yaz also, more than the physical pain in her ribs could ever dare to achieve. 

* * *

They decide after much deliberation that Jo should stay with Yaz at Bill’s cottage whilst Amy keeps an eye on them both, Grace concluding that both women should not be left alone, and Yaz offering the cottage seeing as it is the largest house out of all of their options. Jo offers up no protest to not going back to her flat, and Yaz is secretly relieved that she will not be separated with the other woman; she has not spoken to her since the others arrived, nor has the other woman even looked her way.

The journey back to Kennock Cove, whilst short, had been tense. They had left Ryan with the busted hire car and, after fetching Yaz and Jo’s bags from it, had set off in Grace’s, Yaz riding in the front and Jo and Amy in the back. Amy had sat in the middle and held Jo against her the entire time, any usual teasing and friendly banter between them gone and the deep caring friendship underneath exposed; Amy looks like a mother bear protecting her cub. Yaz feels strange, she feels like she should be the one to comfort Jo, too, and yet the other woman will not even look at her; they need to get back to the cottage and get settled in before Yaz can attempt to check in with her.

When they pull up outside the now familiar cottage, Yaz feels a swooping sense of relief, and the wisteria climbing the outside wall feels comforting, as does the blue door. She lets out a long sigh of relief before opening the car door and climbing out, moving carefully to spare her ribs.

Amy leads Jo out and with a concern undercut by firmness tells her that she is going straight to bed to rest; Grace had declared her physically fine but suffering from shock.

“Which one is your bedroom, Yaz?” Amy asks her as Yaz fumbles in her pocket for the front door key.

“Second door on the left.” Yaz says, assuming that Amy is heading for the guest bedroom. To her surprise, however, once she has helped Grace carry in their bags and dump them in the hallway, heading upstairs she sees the door to her bedroom open and catches a glimpse of ginger hair.

“Hope you don’t mind, Yaz.” Amy says with her back to Yaz as she pulls back the sheets and sits Jo down on the side of the bed.

“Ermm, no.” Yaz says, struggling to find words past her spinning head and Amy’s whirlwind like determination. Yaz glances to Jo and is relieved to see that she has stopped trembling but the faraway look in her eyes, wide and deep set in her pale face, is troubling. Jo is unnervingly quiet, and whilst Yaz is glad she is not protesting, she is not exactly relieved by the uncharacteristic silence, either.

“Right, then…” Amy says, once she has knelt down to unlace Jo’s boots and pull them off her feet. The other woman had made a half-hearted attempt to help but Amy had gently pushed her hand back away. Grace comes in at that moment, two glasses of water in hand, and she hands one to Yaz with a warm smile and Amy takes the other, sitting down next to Jo and encouraging the other woman to take a few sips. Jo is coming back to herself more, her hand covering Amy’s as the other woman holds the glass, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly.

“M'fine, Amy.” She grumbles after she has taken a few sips of water, and the other woman rolls her eyes but relents and puts the glass down on the bedside table. She turns to Grace. “Grace, could you stay with Jo for a moment whilst I talk to Yaz?”

“’Course, love. “Grace says, moving past Yaz, who is frozen on the spot with sudden nerves, and coming further into the room to take Amy’s place next to Jo.

“M’not a child, I don’t need someone in here with me.” Jo complains half-heartedly. Amy gives her a stern look which seems to communicate something to Jo as the other woman maintains her position for only a moment until she sighs and relents. “Fine.”

“Good. Come on, Yaz.” Amy says, striding past her and into the hallway. Yaz takes one last glance back at Jo, who is still not looking at her, mouth contorted in annoyance, and sighs, following Amy.

The other woman leads them into the spare bedroom, a sparsely furnished room Yaz has barely touched, if at all, in her time in the cottage. She strides over to the window, peering out over the view in front of them, letting Yaz close the door behind them. Yaz waits for her to speak, more than a little apprehensive, but feeling a familial calmness come over her as she anticipates some kind of confrontation; she can deal with this.

“Yaz, I need you to tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out, don’t spare me any details.” Amy says, arms crossed in front of her body. She considers her wording, then. “Well, actually, I don’t want to hear if you had sex, I really don’t, but… tell me what happened.”

“Wait, hang on, how did you know we were…” Yaz begins but Amy waves her off with a sigh.

“Oh, please. You two go away for your own private trip together after all that toing and froing? Can’t pull the wool over my eyes!”

“Right…” Yaz says. It feels weird for her for others to know about them, but of course they had. Coming back to ‘reality’ after their days alone and she is taking a little time to adjust; she had been so wrapped up in their private dance.

And so Yaz tells Amy how the week had started off a light symphony with positive strings and a slow tempo, each woman relaxing into the song of each other, and then she recounts how a deeper sound had begun to seep in, and undercurrent signalling the arrival of something big, which had finally built into a crescendo of harsh pulls on strings and banging on drums and culminated that morning in the car crash.

“I figured that it must be bad if she hadn’t told me. Had lied to me.” Yaz says, hands twisting together. “Not to sound arrogant but… She’s told me so much Amy, so it’s got to be big if she’s still holding it from me. Not that… not that she _has_ to tell me.” Yaz finishes lamely.

“No, I understand what you mean.” Amy says, holding out a reassuring hand. Her fingernails are painted green, Yaz notices. “And has she? Told you why she hates driving?” Amy asks, and Yaz shakes her head.

“Okay…” Amy says, letting out a long breath, foot tapping against the ground. “And you said she wasn’t sleeping much, and she had a couple of nightmares… did you- did she consume any alcohol?”

“No, none at all.” Yaz says firmly, sure of that.

Amy lets out a long breath. “Alright. Good, that’s something at least….” There is a story there, which Yaz knows only the outline of, but she does not think now is the time to ask for it. Plus, she has something else gnawing away at her.

“Amy, I just want you to know I wouldn’t have left her alone whilst she was driving, let alone let her, if I had known how bad she would react. If it weren’t for my stupid ribs then-”

“Yaz, it’s alright, you cannot blame yourself for Jo’s decision, especially when you didn’t know.” Amy assures her. Yaz has another protestation on the tip of her tongue, but she holds it back when Amy gives a look up and down, appearing to want to say something more. Finally, she does. “Yaz, you’ve done amazing and your coming into her life just like that!” Amy snaps her fingers and the shrugs. “It’s almost like a fairy-tale. But… you’re not her knight in shining armour. I need you to know that if you’re uncomfortable or you feel like you cannot handle this then you can walk away. But if you do you need to do it now before-”

“That won’t be necessary.” Yaz says confidently, and then ponders over whether to say the next part, but eventually she settles on doing so, if it will confirm to Amy Yaz’s commitment. “I told her, yesterday, that even when I have to go back to Sheffield, and whatever happens next I’m not going to stop caring for her. I still want to be in her life.”

Amy is wide-eyed, mouth open and Yaz does not think she has ever seen the other woman so speechless. She swallows nervously, wondering if she has said too much, when suddenly the other woman is striding towards her and pulling Yaz into a hug. Yaz yelps in surprise and when the movement jars her ribs, and Amy shifts so that she is embracing Yaz’s top half, holding her arms away from Yaz’s ribs. Yaz reaches up best she can to place her hands on the other woman’s back.

When she pulls back, Amy shakes her head and swallows back the emotion which swirls in chestnut eyes. “Consider yourself special, Yaz, I don’t give out hugs to people like that often.”

Yaz laughs, relieved, and Amy returns it with her own laugh before she looks at Yaz with a knowing look in her eyes. “You’re one of the good ones, I can tell. Jo hasn’t had many of those people in her life, she’s probably scared of losing you.”

“She is, she…” Yaz begins to say and then bites her tongue. She did not tell Amy about Jo’s sudden running from the table at the restaurant, having only just confided in her Yaz’s promise of that night, and she thinks it might be best if she keeps Jo crying into her lap to herself for now.

“Well there you go.” Amy says with a nod. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to be there for her every second of every day. It can get a lot, I learnt that the hard way after River-” Amy breaks off, and there is untold sadness in her eyes. “And Jo isn’t good at accepting help sometimes. I mean, I was surprised at first how open with you she was, but now I can see why. But you have to know that she has always thought she has to face things alone. River… she was the first to show her she didn’t have to, but then with her death…” Amy sighs. “It got worse. I think _this_ was a case of her pushing herself too far. Jo never knows when to stop. Thinks the way she approaches her problems is her way of dealing with them but really she is just running at a wall, head-on.”

Yaz remembers confessions of a lonely childhood, remembers Jo drinking herself into a stupor over River when Yaz had been so new to Kennock Cove, her pushing Amy away until something had broken in her.

“Then, what do you suggest we do?”

“Honestly, Yaz?” Amy says, biting the inside of her cheek. “We just need to support her. Tell her she’s not alone, that she does not need to hide, does not need to pretend to be okay if she isn’t. She’s scared of making mistakes. She told you about her childhood, well she was never given a chance, as a kid to fix the mistakes she made, naturally, as a child! She still carries that with her and I think River…” Amy breaks off, and she shakes her head as if dispelling a thought from her head. “Yaz, tell her this hasn’t changed anything for you. Let her know you’re not angry, you don’t blame her for the accident. I think if we can get that through, now, then it’s going to make the fall out of this much better. She’s been better with you, Yaz, she’s been more like her old self than I’ve seen her in months.”

“I’ll do all that I can.” Yaz assures her.

Amy gives her a grateful smile. “But look after yourself as well Yaz, yeah? _You_ are important in this.”

Yaz nods slowly, taking in a deep steadying breath. She has always struggled with the idea that she must look after herself if she wishes to help others, helping others being the thing which in turn helps her feel better about herself, makes her feel stronger. But Amy is right; in this case, when she had been unsure how to help Jo until most of the damage was done, Yaz beating herself up because of that will do her no good. Yaz looking after herself and saying it is alright to make mistakes will help them both in the long run.

“Good?” Amy asks her, and when Yaz nods she smiles and gives a light touch to Yaz’s arm. “Good. Now, please go and give her a hug. Lord knows the idiot probably thinks she doesn’t deserve one.” 

* * *

Yaz slips into her bedroom quietly after parting ways with Amy, who had declared tea a necessity and has headed downstairs to make some. When she enters, she sees Jo curled up on the bed, facing away from the door, her glasses resting on the bedside table, and Grace sat in the small armchair by the window, peering out at the view. She turns when Yaz shuffles in and gives her a warm smile. Yaz returns it, taking in a deep breath as her gaze wonders back to Jo, to the tense line of her shoulders. She is still staring at that line when Grace passes her by with a soft, reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, closing the door with a small ‘click’ behind her.

Yaz moves slowly round to the other side of the bed, and she sits herself down on the edge and carefully manoeuvres herself into lying down facing Jo, luckily on her good side. The other woman’s eyes are closed, but Yaz can tell she is not asleep, as they are clenched shut, as if in anticipation of something.

Yaz is unsure what to say, what to do, not sure whether her normal efforts will work the same way or be appreciated. This is new territory in their not even week-long relationship with each other; Amy had recommended Yaz simply be there for her, assert that nothing has changed, and so she does what has worked before. She ever so carefully puts a hand to Jo’s cheek, and she whispers, “I’m here.” After a tense moment of stillness, even the sea outside, it seems, halting its endless battering against the earth, Jo practically crumbles under her and scoots closer across the bed to Yaz to that their foreheads are touching, noses brushing. Yaz lets out a long, happy sigh in response, hand moving from Jo’s cheek to stroke through her hair.

“Hey…” She says when a lone tears trails down Jo’s cheek, Yaz’s fingers catching it and wiping it away.

“I’m so sorry, Yaz.” Jo whispers, finally blinking her eyes open to look at the other woman, glassy and wide and sad.

“It’s okay, it’s alright…” Yaz assures her. “Jo… you could have told me. If you didn’t want to drive, you should have just said.”

Jo lets out a long breath, the air tickling Yaz’s face. She does not say anything, but at least she doesn’t protest, and Yaz picks up the pendant of Jo’s necklace in her fingers, fiddling with it. “Together, remember?”

Jo looks down at the necklace around Yaz’s neck, and after a moment she takes it between her fingers, mirroring Yaz’s action.

“Together.” She says, voice quiet, dulled, a dimmed down version of her usual self. Yaz continues her reassurance.

“I’m not angry with you.” She says, carefully placing the necklace back in the hollow of Jo’s neck and returning her fingers to the other woman’s cheek. “I’m just concerned- and don’t say I shouldn’t be, I will be, alright? Because I…” Yaz trails off, and with no words left to explain herself, she goes on Jo’s prerogative and takes action instead, inching forward and pressing her lips to the other woman’s.

Jo sucks in a breath and freezes for a moment but then she is relaxing into the kiss and leaning into it and drawing comfort from all the things Yaz is communicating through it. When they break apart again, her shoulders have relaxed and she looks less pained, now, although exhausted.

“Yaz…” She says, eyes travelling over Yaz’s face. She says nothing more and instead closes her eyes and leans more into Yaz’s touch, the other woman moving her hand from Jo’s cheek to her shoulder, so she is holding her in a light embrace.

Other things can wait until they are better rested, but Yaz is relieved she has at least eased some of the stress Jo must have been feeling, and in turn feels reassured that there is no bad blood between them, no finger pointing, and that they have withstood this storm, so surely than can withstand any others which might come their way? But for now… No explanations, no heavy words between, just the two of them.

When Amy comes upstairs with tray of tea in hand, she finds both woman asleep, foreheads still touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! For some reason the strangers manifested themselves in my mind as Morgana and Arthur from Merlin lol. I hope Amy doesn't seem OOC, she has a lot to say and i worried about some of it not being in character, so I hope she's alright! 
> 
> See you Sunday!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	25. Whiplash (Part Two)

Yaz is woken by voices, and she shifts, confused for a moment about where she is and why the light is so bright. As awareness comes back, however, so too do the events of the day, and she gasps, eyes flying open.

The bed next to her is empty, and when Yaz puts a hand on the sheets they are cool to the touch. The light streaming in from behind closed curtains is wan, but bright, so it cannot be that much later in the day since she fell asleep. _When_ did she fall asleep? She remembers lying with Jo, appeased that the both of them were seeking comfort in the other, and then…. She must have dozed off soon after that.

She raises herself carefully into a sitting position; her ribs are aching worse, now, and the medication she took that morning must have worn off. She shuffles to the edge of the bed and pads out onto the landing with full intentions of tracking down some paracetamol to battle the pain, she is done with the woozy feeling which comes with the stronger pills Martha had prescribed, when the conversation she can hear below her makes her stop in her tracks. 

“….It’s not going to be all that bad….” Amy is saying. “You seriously think she’ll….”

Yaz leans forward to hear more, and when she cannot discern what Amy is saying she moves stealthily to the top of the stairs, creeping down the first view and stops just out of sight of the downstairs. When she peeks around the edge of the banister, she can see the living room door is open, and can hear that the voices are coming from in there.

“I can’t, I can’t do that.” Jo is saying, and Yaz can hear the despair in her tone.

“Why not?” Amy questions.

“She’d leave if she knew, ‘specially after today. She wouldn’t trust me.” Jo says, voice catching on a sob. Yaz almost propels down the stairs in concern, to vociferously deny what Jo has just said, but she grips onto the banister and keeps herself still; were she to suddenly appear in the living room Amy and Jo would know she had been eavesdropping, and that is not going to settle Jo’s obviously already frazzled nerves.

“That’s ridiculous.” Amy says with characteristic bombastic attitude, and Yaz draws her attention back to the conversation.

“It’s not, and you know why!” Jo says accusingly.

“I really don’t, Jo.” Amy says, tone softer this time. “C’mon Smith you’re making no sense.”

Yaz can hear Jo draw in a heavy breath. “I need to think about this all. I need to try and get ma head straight.”

“Then do that. Help yourself out.” Amy insists. “And know we’re all behind you. Yaz included. You don’t regret letting her in, do you? You don’t regret telling her about River? The car crash?”

“No! No.” Jo protests, her vehemence sincere and Yaz feels herself strain forward to hear just that little bit better. “That’s not why I’m ashamed.”

“Wha…” Amy trails off, and Yaz shuffles closer to pick out what she is saying. “…You haven’t told her all of it, have you?”

Jo’s silence must be enough of a confirmation for Amy as she continues. “Jo, please don’t tell me this is because of _that._ ”

“Don’t say it like that.” Jo spits back, tone offended.

“I’m not, Jo, I’m just…” Yaz can practically feel the frustration in Amy’s tone. “Don’t let that old demon hold you back. It got you before, don’t let it spoil this. Yaz is special, she’s…. she’s done more for you than anyone else.”

“But if she knew…”

“Then she wouldn’t hold it against you!” Amy insists. Her tone drops, and Yaz shuffles forward, straining her ears. “None of us would hold it against you! Jo, please, you know this isn’t… It’s just today, it’s just dredged it all up.” There is a pause, and Yaz desperately wishes she could see Jo’s face. Amy’s voice comes again. “Why did you do it?”

“There wasn’t a choice.” Jo replies, voice flat.

“And the other reason?” Amy demands.

After a moment’s pause, Jo replies. “I was trying to prove I could, that I could be better-”

“See! You’re fighting it! Not sure that was the best way to go about it but-”

“No! Amy I-” Jo whispers, broken. Defeated. “Not now, Amy. Please. I’m tired. I need to think.”

The air seems to buzz with the electric emotion of Amy Pond, and for a moment Yaz thinks the woman will refuse and demand a confrontation on all this right there and then, but sympathy for her close friend must dull that buzzing, and Amy sighs. “Yeah. ‘course. Just… don’t let the demons win. For me, for Yaz, but most importantly for yourself.”

Jo scoffs, but if the sound is meant to lighten the mood it does not work. “You sound almost sentimental there, Pond.”

“Yeah, because I almost care for you.” Amy bites back sarcastically, and then Yaz can hear movement, and when she peers very carefully over the banister, she can see Amy has embraced Jo, her long hair curtaining both their faces from view. She whispers something into Jo’s ear, but Yaz cannot hear what she says.

Yaz draws back, then, sensing the conversation has come to an end and if Amy or Jo were to exit now, they would possibly see her peeking over the edge of the banister. She heads back into the bedroom to wait it out for a few minutes before she grabs some paracetamol. Processing what she has just heard, Yaz’s suspicions about there being something she does not know about at play here are confirmed, and it seems for some reason Jo is reluctant to tell her. Why? What is it she is so afraid of?

Yaz jumps as outside the window thunder purrs and the electric snap of lightning follows soon after, lighting up the wall to Yaz’s left. Another rumble comes soon after, closer this time, and a shiver travels down Yaz’s spine as lightning strikes again.

The clouds seem to gather in just that little bit closer, night drawing in; the sunset is not going to be visible today. They just need to get through the night; tomorrow will be a fresh start. 

* * *

Fog descends outside, and so, too, is there a fog which descends upon Yaz’s mind in the next while. Hours blend together like paints on a canvas, and the picture is stormy, a vast clash of colours which do not blend together well; tense silences, lingering hands longing to comfort, a wind outside which whistles like wolves and raises the hair on the back of Yaz’s neck. And undercutting it all a pain both mental and physical which runs deep like… like a river.

Jo sleeps, and Yaz watches her, loathe to do so herself, loathe to miss an opportunity, should it arise, to try and coax out from the other woman her worries, to carry the burden of her woes; Jo and Amy’s conversation plays over and over in her mind like a never-ending record, and it is like she knows the tune but not the words, the lyrics slipping her mind.

She does what she can do when Jo suddenly begins to shift and to whimper under her breath, all the signs of a nightmare, calmly talking to the woman, savouring the feel of soft skin under her hand as she strokes Jo’s cheek. The other woman wakes on a cry, her eyes fluttering open, unfocused and, in the lowlight of the room, and caught in a net of hazy dreams, Jo must not see her properly, for she whispers, “River?”

Tongue-tied for a moment, Yaz finally manages to say, “No, Jo, it’s Yaz. It’s… you were dreaming.”

Jo blinks, and she comes back to herself, eyes focussing and then, when she realises what she has just said, her cheeks flush red and her eyes widen as she comes fully awake. Yaz lets her hand fall from the other woman’s face, but she quickly replaces it when Jo clenches her eyes shut, letting out a dry sob. “Yaz…”

Yaz soothes her with placations, heart full of sorrow and mind full of desperate curiosity. “Tell me what’s wrong. You don’t have to share this burden alone.” She says once Jo’s tears have stopped but her eyes are still painted in misery. “Let me help you, I want to help you….”

Yaz’s words carry throughout the room, and the walls seem to soak them up. She realises she and Jo have not had a proper conversation all day, not since that morning, and even then, Jo has shrouded herself in a cloak of obfuscation. Yaz might as well be talking to the walls for how much she feels her words reach Jo’s ears. There is no place for irritation here, though, no room for anger; she cannot force Jo to tell her anything, but there is an element of paralysis, of watching a loved one suffer and not being able to move to help them no matter how badly she fights.

“It hurts me to see you like this.” She admits. 

Jo takes a deep breath, running a hand through her greasy hair, eyes clenching as if she is the one in physical pain for a moment before the open and she seems to gather herself.

“The morning.” She says, eyes trailing over Yaz’s shoulder.

“The morning.” Yaz agrees, letting out a long breath. The morning will be better, their heads will be clearer, the sky outside, hopefully, will be clearer.

Yaz just wishes she knew the forecast. 

* * *

Waking, Yaz senses a presence lingering over her, and she blinks her eyes open. Cool light streams in through a gap in the curtains, and Yaz can hear the wind through the windowpanes. Another stormy day, then. Yaz shifts, testing the pain in her ribs, and when they stab at her, she lets out a long sigh, irritation digging its claws in. She takes another bracing breath before she pulls herself into a sitting position and turns to the person sat on the end of the bed.

Jo’s is dressed in fresh clothes, glasses on the bridge of her nose, pendant necklace catching at the dull light. She watches as Yaz wakes and pulls herself upright, giving her a soft smile. She looks better than she had yesterday, but there is something melancholy to the slope of her shoulders, and Yaz reaches out a hand for the other woman to take. After a moment’s hesitation, Jo does.

“Mornin’ Yaz.” She greets, voice soft, as if afraid to speak into the morning lull.

“Mornin’.” Yaz greets back. “What time is it?”

“Just after nine.” Jo replies, and then her face scrunches up. “I _think_. Time is a bit of a strange concept to me, at times. Feels like I lose all sense of it, and then before you know it, I’ve spent the whole day re-ordering the books in the shop. I could tell you from the position of the sun but it’s a bit too cloudy today for me to see, although I could give it a shot…”

The blabber is so Jo, and whilst Yaz is aware that it is a distraction, skirting around what matters at the moment, it is too comfortingly _like_ the other woman that she cannot help but lean into it. “Or we could just check my phone?”

“Oh yeah.” Jo says. “We could do that, but that does take the fun out of it.”

“I think we’ve got different definitions of fun.” Yaz says light-heartedly, but nonetheless she does not reach for her phone.

“How are your ribs?” Jo asks, glancing down at Yaz’s midriff.

Yaz tuts and rolls her eyes. “Annoyingly painful. But… they’ll heal.”

“I’m sorry.” Jo says again, face creased in sympathy. “I could always go and speak to this old woman in the village who does natural remedies? She gave me something for a headache once. Looking back, I think it might have been weed, actually…”

Yaz lets out a snort of laughter and Jo’s face creases with a smile as she watches Yaz laugh, eyes lingering on her lips before trailing up to her eyes. Jo seems more at ease, and Yaz knows, then, that she has done the right thing by leaning into the other woman’s need for normality, for joking banter and silly quips. It has got the morning off to a good start. Yaz has not forgotten Jo’s promise of the night before, so she hopes that with a new day and a chance to recharge, an explanation might be on its way.

Which makes it even more discombobulating when, after a moment of comfortable silence, Jo suddenly says, “Yaz, I think we should take a few days.”

“’A few days’?” Yaz repeats, confused by Jo’s meaning.

“Yeah, a few days.” Jo repeats.

“No, Jo, I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Yaz explains.

“Oh.” Jo says. “I mean, I think we should take a few days apart.”

“Oh…” Yaz says, feeling something heavy tighten around her chest which makes it hard to breathe.

“I- I just need some space to think.” Jo explains, and her tone drops it playfulness for the sincerity this conversation deserves. Her hand makes a gesture around her head. It is more like her than the withdrawn woman of yesterday, but there is still a frantic energy to her movements which belie nervousness. “To get ma head around all the thoughts going on in here.” 

“Okay.” Yaz says and wets her lips with her tongue. “Of course, of course you can take the time to figure it all out.”

She knows it might be healthy for them to spend a little time apart after having spent so much time together in the past week, and before that, but especially with how things have escalated in the past week, but it does not make the ache of being apart hurt any less. She asks, “But will you text me? Just to let me know you’re okay?”

Jo nods. “Yes. Of course.” She flicks her head back to move her hair out of her face and asks, “Will you be okay? I don’t want ya being lonely, Yaz.”

Yaz squeezes the hand in her own. “I’ll have you through ma phone, and I can always bother Ryan.” She adds with a small smile. Jo returns it with one of her own, but there is a tinge of sadness in the way her mouth wobbles.

“I don’t want…” Jo says, and then bites the inside of her cheek and starts again. “I don’t want to be away from you, but I think I should.”

Yaz answers that one carefully, unsure how to take such a statement after what she had heard from snooping on Amy and Jo’s conversation the day before. “You don’t… you don’t need to be afraid of telling me anything. I really did mean it when I said this doesn’t change anything. I care for you Jo. So much I can’t even begin to put it into words. So, if you want to talk at any time… I’ll be there.”

_Letting me in, remember?_

Yaz had said that weeks ago, when the possibility of Jo liking her back was a budding flower of hope. She hopes Jo remembers that now, that the words will ring like a bell of truth in her ears, even if Yaz is not there to say them in person.

Emotions flicker through Jo’s eyes a mile a minute, impossible to decipher, but after a moment she nods and gives Yaz a small, grateful smile.

“You’re not going to be completely alone, though, right?” Yaz asks. “Not all the time?”

Jo’s cheek twitches. “No, I’m sure Pond will be keeping a stern eye on me.”

“Good.” Yaz says. Amy will keep Jo safe, Amy will ensure nothing drastic happens whilst they are apart.

Time, while Jo had joked she had the barest of grasps on it, might be just what she needs. Time to herself, to step back and look at herself and work through what she is feeling; time to prepare what she wants to say to Yaz, in regards to both Yaz’s proposal of Thursday night and to what had happened with the car crash; and most importantly time to heal from the car crash to help with the first two. And although it is hard, staying with Jo feels like the natural way to support her, is what Yaz wants more than anything, perhaps a little while apart will brings things into better perspective, will hopefully ensure that their tentative relationship might then be able to weather any storm which comes their way. She just needs to know one thing first, just to make sure, so she can nail that to her mind and remember it when doubt creeps in, as it inevitably will.

“This isn’t because of me, is it?” She asks. “Isn’t because of what I offered?”

“No, Yaz, no.” Jo firmly denies, and Yaz strikes the nail in. “This is… this is all me.”

“I understand.” Yaz says with a nod and a small smile, and then there is a silence in which both women know they should go through with what they have agreed, but both are loath to begin it. Yaz takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” She says, pulling slightly on the hand she holds in her own. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

Jo’s composure almost crumbles, then, and Yaz watches the battle rage across her face as she seeks to control it; she longs to tell her she has no need for it, not when Yaz has willingly surrendered to all the woman might throw at her, but if Jo needs to fight that battle then support her Yaz shall.

Hand on Jo’s cheek Yaz kisses her with a desperation which rises thick and fast. Jo falters under Yaz’s lips, a sob rising in her throat, and Yaz deepens the kiss, hand moving from her cheek through her hair to her neck, blonde strands smooth between her fingers. When they break apart it is like a wave which crashes upon the shore and breaks into smithereens, both of them reverberating from the clash.

“Just… don’t leave me out in the storm for too long?” Yaz asks, tone perhaps a little bit too pleading. Her hand is still at Jo’s neck, and she strokes the skin with her thumb.

“I promise.” Jo says, and with a small sad smile she is detaching herself from Yaz and is striding out of the room without a second glance back.

Yaz settles back into the bedsheets with a long breath out. Being apart might be a necessary step to take for both women to clear their heads and refresh, but Yaz knows, that not seeing Jo every day, that going from being near her every second to being apart, well… that is going to feel like whiplash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof... I read this one back and thought 'woah what mood were you in when you wrote this'. Thank you so much for reading! I'm off to Cornwall tomorrow, very excited as I'll be staying in/near the place where i based Kennock Cove off of! I mentioned before a few weeks ago that if i managed to see the sunset from the beach I would post a picture with the next chapter so hopefully i can do that! Speaking of the next chapter- I am returning on Thursday, but am unsure what time, so if the chapter is later than usual, that is why (worst case scenario will be it's posted Friday instead, but I don't think it'll come to that!)
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	26. The Walker in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have this as one big chapter as a thanks for everyone's continued support 😊 
> 
> TW: discussions of death (car crash), mention of past alcohol abuse (any questions please hmu on Twitter @walkerlister1 or Tumblr: walker-lister) 
> 
> Please enjoy!

For two days Yaz is bound to the bed or the sofa by the persistent irritation of her ribs, and for two days she is completely alone.

She feels as if her life has been put on hold as her body heals and she waits, almost pathetically desperate, for a reply to a text and an assurance that the person who has become such a constant is still there, even when Yaz cannot see her. Different scenarios play in Yaz’s head like an all-night showing at the cinema, keeping her awake until the early hours. Thoughts about the future, images of herself accepting the promotion in Sheffield, of Jo and Yaz figuring out a way to keep their relationship afloat on calm waters. Images of them together, happy, and even when they apart, content, flicker on film reel across her eyelids as Hypnos remains frustratingly out of reach. More than once Yaz is crying out in frustration that she cannot fall into his embrace, that she cannot fall into Jo’s embrace, cannot even know whether the other woman is thinking of Yaz, of her offer, or is too caught up in secrets Yaz does not know. She worries that one will severely impact how she perceives the other, if Yaz has blown it all by the grace of bad timing. Doubt crawls in through the gap under the door, and Yaz starts to question everything.

When desperation reaches its apex, and morning light begins to stream in, and she longs for Jo’s presence, begins to pretend she can see her out of the corner of her eye, sitting on the bed, in the armchair, at the stove in the morning cooking pakora, of moving down here, to Kennock Cove, which now she is back feels like a warm familiar embrace. If it will make it work for both of them, then would Yaz be willing to do that? She thinks she would, but then…. Mornings always bring clarity, and she knows she cannot drop Sheffield like a discarded sweet wrapper in the bin; it is too important to her, and Yaz understands now that one cannot throw everything they have into either a relationship _or_ a job: the two must balance equally. She could not miss that opportunity for promotion and spend the rest of her life wandering what might have happened if she had taken it… But she also cannot miss the chance to make things work with Jo, either.

If only she knew exactly what was going on in the other woman’s head.

Whilst Jo is physically absent she is also mentally absent, as for the first time since those early weeks, when Yaz they slowly began to trust and confide in one another, Yaz senses a looming unknown, like a door slammed shut in her face, which is not going to open any time soon. The incident with the nightmare in Falmouth had forced a confrontation which had revealed the truth about River’s death rather easily, but now it seems Jo does not trust Yaz with whatever is plaguing her, for some reason does not want to admit to it, and Yaz feels useless as she bends to the other woman’s wishes, sat up in her cottage alone killing time with endless daydreams. Why be stuck in dreaming when the subject of those dreams is near and could use her help in reality?

But it is not that simple, and the help she is giving by staying in statis forces her to remain on edge, on pause, with those daydreams.

While she waits, Yaz savours the text messages she receives over those two days. Just a few words on a screen and her heart is set to racing. The messages do not consist of much, mainly Jo expressing her hopes that Yaz is alright, that she misses her. Yaz savours those words, sees them imprinted on the back of her eyelids when she closes her eyes, and she writes back her own longing reply, and once the message is sent she is hungry for the next to come pinging back. They give her hope, and she clings to them like precious keepsakes.

And then the messages stop on the Monday, the third day of their separation.

A promise is broken, and Yaz scrambles, at first, for the pieces, nervousness edging in until it feels like she is vibrating off the walls. Anger breaks through then, irrational, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue, and Yaz longs to force the pieces back together to make them fit properly. Finally, though, resolve breaks through, like the sun breaking through the clouds which still swamp Kennock Cove by that Monday, and Yaz knows she must carefully place each bit back together again with gentle hands and loving words. By evening, Yaz is determined to pick up the tail end of the conviction that had swamped her last Thursday, fed up of being in the house, fed up of being ignored by Jo in the many texts she has sent over the course of the day; they had fallen into the pattern of texting each other in the morning, midday, and the evening, Yaz sneaking out to peer down and watch Jo witness an hidden sunset from the beach each evening. When the woman had not appeared at the sunset on the Monday, Yaz’s resolve was solidified. The throbbing of her ribs has quelled once more to a low level thrum, as if there is a toddler in the next room banging upon a toy drum as she has shut the door firmly on the noise, and she makes the decision to venture back out into the village the next morning.

When she does step out, leather jacket wrapped firmly around her shoulders against the wailing gale which picks up her hair and instantly makes her wish she had tied it up, Yaz finds heading back into the now familiar village comforting, but there is something slightly off, as if Yaz has crossed into a parallel universe. The village looks the same, Yaz wanders past the same old age pensioners ambling down the main street to the village, almost blown over by the wind, but it is like everything is in black and white, duller. Perhaps it is the storm, or perhaps it is because blonde hair does not stick out above all the other heads, does not hold Yaz’s hand and blabber about endless information in her ear, and does not even reply to the messages which sit like ticking time bombs on Yaz’s phone… but counting down to what?

When Yaz puts her hand to the doorknob to Tardis Books, she has to take one deep, rallying breath, remember her conviction, and then she pulls the door open and enters the bookshop without a further ado.

Grace greets her.

“Yaz, love!” She says, and her eyes are as kind as ever but there is a knowledge which sits behind them, a deeper understanding, as if she already knew that Yaz was to come here and why before Yaz had even had the thought in the her own mind.

“Hi, Grace.” Yaz says and sounds more tired than she had been meaning to. She clears her throat. “I’m looking for Jo.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen her today, love.” Grace says, and there is something in her voice which makes Yaz pause.

“Isn’t she working?”

“Not today. I gave her the day off on Saturday for obvious reasons but… she called in sick yesterday, too.”

Yaz nods slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. Decision made, she says, “I think I’ll pop upstairs, see if she’s there.”

Grace nods. “Alright, love. She didn’t answer my knocking this morning, but I’m sure when she knows it’s _you…_ ”

Yaz does not comment on that, but she does break and let out a light laugh at the mischievous wink Grace gives her, and is still chuckling softly as she pads over to the other side of the shop to pull open the door labelled ‘private’. Before her hand reaches for the latch, however, she turns around and fixes Grace with a level gaze.

“Grace? Thank you so much for Friday. I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you, yet, but…”

“Nowt to it, love.” Grace assures her. “Why don’t you come for dinner one day this week? How about tomorrow evening?”

“I’d love that.” Yaz says sincerely, and she gives the woman one more smile before she pulls open the door and heads up the steep stairs to the small flat above.

When she knocks, there is no reply. So, she knocks again. Resounding silence greets her once more.

“Jo?” She calls, and still no reply. Yaz bites her lip. Maybe the woman really is not in at the moment. Her eyes latch onto the door handle and, after a moment’s hesitation, concern and her resolve take over and she pushes down on it to test whether the door is unlocked.

It swings open.

The flat which greets her is quiet and musty, as if Jo has forgotten to open any windows to let clean air in since she has been here, and Yaz wonders whether that might be the case when she sees the dust which settles over the hard surfaces, how even the purple of her sofa looks to be faded in the wan light. Yaz’s stomach clenches, her heart feeling heavy to see the place looking so unloved, unlived in; even the clutter looks more erratic than it usually does, no order, only chaos. Yaz knows Jo is messy but _this…._

Yaz wanders through the main living space and into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to quickly sweep the space with her gaze. There are mugs all over the place, dirty and unwashed, but to Yaz’s concern she can see no plates, and, when she pulls open the fridge and opens the cupboards, there is only a scant few tins of food and a half empty carton of milk lingering in the corners. Yaz spots one of the tins of soup she had bought for Jo all those weeks ago, one of the first offerings of friendship. It looks lonely up there on its shelf all alone.

Leaving the desolate kitchen behind Yaz peers around the ajar to the bathroom and when she finds that empty, finally summons the nerve to approach the bedroom. She knocks on the door.

“Jo?”

A now familiar but unwelcome silence greets her, and Yaz opens the door with a small creak of age-old hinges. The bedsheets are rumpled, and Yaz is glad for signs of life, of them being slept in, at least, but that is not what catches her eye.

Spread across the bed are an array of papers, and as Yaz steps forwards she notices the bold print of newspaper publications. Glancing around, obviously Jo is not here either, Yaz hesitates. She had stopped herself from googling Jo in those first weeks, was willing to let the other woman tell her in her own time her past, but now… things have changed, and something heavy seems to sit in the air, and the presence of these papers, spread in disarray across the bed lend themselves to that ominous air. There is something in Grace’s understanding look and Jo’s sudden presence which tells her that taking a closer look at this evidence is not prying, anyway, but the gathering of evidence with Jo’s best interests at heart; if the other woman discovers her Yaz can defend herself easily enough. Whatever Jo is not telling Yaz she is not going looking for, not to satiate her own curiosity, at least, but rather she is picking up the pieces which might lead her to Jo, the crumbs left behind creating a trail back to the other woman, both physically and emotionally. Yaz has the other woman interests at heart when she sits down on the edge of the bed and picks up the paper nearest to her.

It is a newspaper article, and the headline reads: WOMAN DIES IN CRASH. Swallowing back the slight guilt which ebbs at the back of her throat, Yaz sticks to her resolve and begins to read the article.

_A woman died last week in a serious accident just outside of Southampton. Doctor River Song, 33, of Sheffield, Yorkshire, was pronounced dead at the scene. Her widow, Doctor Joanne Smith, 30, who was in the car with her wife, remains in hospital. The accident occurred when Doctor Song’s car was hit by another car which failed to stop at a junction. In a statement to our paper, Police have confirmed that the driver of the vehicle was five times over the alcohol limit. He also remains in hospital, in a critical condition._

Southampton. That is down south. Jo was so far away from home when it happened, even Amy and Rory in Cornwall were hours away; she must have been all alone in the ensuing hours after the crash. In a strange way, Yaz hopes she was unconscious. Chest tight and lungs heavy, Yaz picks up another side of paper, this time titled ‘University of Sheffield News’.

DONATIONS POUR IN FOR THE FUNERAL OF DOCTOR RIVER SONG.

_We report today the incredible efforts made by students, staff and alumni of the University of Sheffield to raise money for donation to the widow of Doctor River Song, a member of our department of Archaeology, Doctor Joanne Smith, to provide for a funeral service for Doctor Song. The crash, which occurred last month, came as a shock to all, and our deepest sympathies and condolences have been with Doctor Smith. As a reflection of this outpouring, a GoFundMe page has been set up on Doctor Smith’s behalf to cover the cost of Doctor Song’s funeral, with donations big and small coming from all corners of the university. Doctor Smith has asked the newspaper to pass on her deepest thanks to all who have donated. Here at Sheffield we pride ourselves on an inclusive and caring environment, and it is safe to say that our big family have all pulled together to support one of our own at a very difficult time._

Tucking that article to the side, Yaz pulls up the next thing she sees, which seems to be a printout of an email.

To: J.Smith@Sheffield.ac.uk

From: R.Chandra@Sheffield.ac.uk

Subject: Goodbye

Dear Doctor Smith,

I just wanted to write to let you know how sorry I am to hear you are leaving the Uni’s astro-physics department. I have enjoyed all your modules in my first two years at uni and was very much looking forward to taking your third-year modules, too. None of the other lecturers hold a flame to your ability to inspire and teach and I don’t think I would have got through those two years without your help. I hope that you can find happiness wherever you are off to next, and I sincerely hope that we can keep in touch.

Yours,

Rani Chandra

Yaz finds no reply to that email.

Fingers now trembling slightly as she holds the evidence of Jo’s past life in her hands, Yaz carefully shuffles through all the other papers that lie across the bed. Most of them are similar to what she has already seen: newspaper reports about River’s death, emails from students and colleagues bidding Jo farewell and expressing their sympathies and sorrow at her departure. There are photographs, too, and Yaz almost stops herself from looking at them, a sick feeling of guilt taking over her. The photographs are of River and Jo throughout their years together, in many different places, in many different poses (one striking image has River lifting Jo over her shoulder whilst the other woman’s face is the picture of flustered irritation), and Yaz should not look as these are not pertinent, not directly, to whatever she is looking for; these are simply treasured jewels, time capsules, kept safe for one to look at once in a while. Yaz tucks them carefully back away.

She shuffles through a few more, finding, disturbingly, a report of the autopsy conducted after River’s death, listing the details of the fatal injuries she had received. Yaz hastily tucks that one back away, swallowing bile; she is not sure how Jo even has that, and quite frankly why she would want to look at it. Something crawls down Yaz’s spine.

She has almost given up when she finally spots something which makes her pause. It is another newspaper article, a small clipping which she might have easily missed had it not been circled in red pen, attached with a paperclip to what appears to be an insurance claim or something similar. It reads:

‘DRUNK DRIVER FOUND GUILTY.

_An inquest concluded today over the road traffic collision which happened last May outside of the city of Southampton. The inquest found the drunk driver who ran a red light and collided into the side of another car carrying Doctor River Song, killing her on impact, and injuring her wife, Doctor Joanne Smith, to be wholly guilty for the road traffic incident. He has pleaded guilty and will be sentenced next week. The man has asked not to be named._

“Bastard.” Yaz mutters. Something strikes her as odd about this small report. Whilst it fits with everything else she has seen, and must offer Jo some comfort as proof of the condemnation of the man who had killed her wife, it does not explain why it has been circled in red with such fervour, why it is tattered at the edge from where it has been handled so often, and therefore looked at so often.

Tidying away Jo’s papers Yaz takes a mental step back from what she has just found. Jo has obviously been reliving past events through these physical reminders. Were it simply the photos of River, Yaz might understand the need for comfort in the warm embrace of happy memories, but that so much of what is laid out in front of her focuses on River’s death and the circumstances surrounding it, especially the evidence of Jo withdrawing from her Sheffield life… something does not sit right within Yaz. With a heavy breath she pulls out her phone.

Scrolling back through her texts, Yaz reads them all back with that sickly sense of foreboding crawling across her back and settling down her spine. It is the same feeling which had sat within her when she had awoken in a fast-moving car with a panicked driver. Within the context of lonely hours spent perusing the documents in front of Yaz, the sudden silence from Jo feels just as oppressive as the silence within her flat.

Over the past twenty-four hours, the increasing worry which radiates from Yaz’s texts now seems to increase tenfold within her in this moment, and she reads the words on the screen with a pounding heart.

12/07/20: 23:00:

Yaz: _Goodnight xx_

Jo: _Night xx_

13/07/20: 09:30:

Yaz: _Good Morning. Xx_

13:00:

Yaz: _Hey you okay? Xx_

19:00:

Yaz: _Hey just checking you’re okay. Miss you. xx_

23:00:

Yaz: _Please let me know if you’re okay. I miss you xx_

This morning:

09:30:

Yaz: _Jo I’m getting worried. Can we talk? Xx_

Yaz sends off another text: _Where are you? xx_

Yaz waits a few moments for a reply she knows will not come, taking a moment to settle the nerves which toss her insides around like a ship on a stormy sea. The current is relentless, though, as that unease pokes holes in her boat and lets the water in, and Yaz is slowly sinking. If she sits here any longer, she is going to go under.

Getting to her feet, Yaz takes one last glance back at the sad scene in front of her, a museum to a past life, an exhibition which Jo has attended for some reason which remains a mystery to Yaz. It carves those holes into her little boat of surety, mocks her with her lack of knowledge on what it is she is _missing,_ nags her with the heavy weights it then throws into her boat to make it sink faster, its large looming presence known. It is the big gap in her knowledge, slipping away from her as easily as Jo is at this moment, forcing the other woman further from her as she wraps herself in the secret like a cloak.

She needs her. 

* * *

Pond’s Pastries is quieter than usual when Yaz enters, wind tossed and slightly breathless. The warm lighting is welcoming and cosy after the battering gale outside on the harbour. The beach is deserted, Yaz has seen hide nor hair of Jack or any of the other lifeboat crew, and even Oscar has conceded defeat and his bike stall is nowhere to be seen. It is too quiet. It is wrong.

Winding her way through the tables, only about half occupied by patrons, Yaz comes to a stop at the counter, greeted, as ever, by a weary looking Rory.

“Yaz! Hi. How are you-”

“Yeah, fine.” Yaz says, cutting him off, aware she might be being a bit rude. “Just- have you seen Jo recently? Only, she’s not replying to my texts.”

Rory’s expression shifts from weariness to wariness. “She isn’t? Okay, hang on… Amy!” Rory has taken a few steps back and is calling around the corner of the wall to where the kitchen area is. He waits, suspended there for a moment with his head tipped back at an odd angle, hanging onto the wall with one hand, until Amy appears from around the corner, the long train of her hair following her and falling against her shoulders. When she spots Yaz, she freezes and frowns.

“Rory I’m taking a break.” She declares.

“Wha-” Rory begins to say but Amy is pushing past him and gesturing for Yaz to follow her upstairs.

“I’ll keep you up to date later.” Amy assures him, and Rory must see something in his wife’s expression which causes him to grab her arm before she disappears and press a kiss to her cheek. Amy leans into it for a moment before she pulls back and gives him a nod, turning once again to Yaz and guiding her to the back and up the stairs to their apartment.

Once inside, Yaz carefully wiping her feet on the doormat, Amy perches herself on the arm of the sofa and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You okay, Yaz?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Yaz assures. Then she pauses. “Well, I... You’ve been keeping tabs on Jo, right?”

Amy, Yaz assumes, is aware of the arrangement between herself and Jo, as part of Jo’s assurance to Yaz would be that Amy would be there to check on her if Yaz was not allowed. 

“Yeah.” Amy replies. “She’s wanted to be alone, but I’ve popped around to hers every day to make sure she’s alright.”

“And is she?” Yaz asks, tone tinging on desperate.

Amy thinks long and hard about that. “Define ‘alright’?”

“She’s not replied to my texts in the last day, and when I went just now to her flat, she wasn’t there.”

Amy’s face becomes pinched with concern. “Oh… That’s… a development.”

“What does that mean?” Yaz asks, lump in her throat.

Amy shrugs, eyes darting across the floor as she thinks. “With you, Yaz… Well, I’ve never seen her confess so much about herself to another person. Not since River. Not since River’s death… When I knew she was still texting you I was relieved, as you really are good for her. So….”

“Now that she’s not?” Yaz prompts.

Amy bites the inside of her cheek, and Yaz can see her brain working behind hazelnut eyes. Her silence in itself is worrying, as Yaz has never known Amy not to have a quip to hand, apart from Yaz’s blurting out her commitment to Jo last Friday, that is. Yaz tests the waters.

“There’s something I don’t know, isn’t there?” She asks. “Something which is making her act like this.”

Amy’s eyes narrow and she looks caught short. “Yaz, I can’t tell you…”

“No, I know.” Yaz says. “As much as I want to know so I can help, it’s Jo’s secret to tell. But…. Is it because she doesn’t trust me? Is she trying to protect me from something? Or am I just being completely clingy and worrying over something because I’m scared of how it might impact my future as well as hers?”

Yaz’s thoughts, her _overthinking,_ come out harried and with less composure than she would have liked, and she sees Amy’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, and she raises a hand to interrupt the raging rapids of Yaz’s catastrophising.

“Yaz, stop that. Don’t think you’re being selfish here, of course you’re going to be worried about how this will impact you. I heard what you said on Friday, I can practically _see_ the hearts in your eyes. You’re lovelorn but you’re not a hopeless romantic so stop whatever _that_ is.” Amy says, waving a hand at Yaz, who huffs and pulls her shoulders back. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“Right.” Yaz says, and with a small sheepish laugh she adds, “Sorry, I’m used to reporting to senior command and…”

Amy’s eyebrow quirks and she smirks. “Oh, so you think I’m senior command?”

Yaz blanches. She supposes that yes, she does see Amy as more senior to her in this situation. “Well, you’ve been through this with Jo. You’re her best friend. I’m going to go to you over any other person.”

Amy’s smirk falls and Yaz can see a darkness descend in her eyes. “Believe me when I say, Yaz, you’re handling this _way_ better than I handled things at first. I mean, we were all impacted by River’s death. She was our friend, and we all took it hard. It was easier, then, to let Jo slip, because my focus was on my grief…”

Yaz longs to tell Amy that she seems to be blaming herself for something similar to what Yaz has expressed, that her own self-preservation and feelings were not important, but she does not think it is her place. She watches as Amy continues, face tight with emotion.

“That’s why she came here to live with us, you know. Because I was almost too late to help her. She…We all look for things to help us through. For me it was this café, it was the steady flow of customers and the repetitions which got me through the worst days, but for Jo… she couldn’t work, the university was just too painful for her, so she got a bit self destructive.

“She wouldn’t leave Sheffield at first, and I was trying to split my time between here and there to keep tabs on her, but things had gotten busier, it was nearing the Christmas season and we had things to do… which is when I got this call, from Jo’s neighbour. Bloody woman was always so nosy, but it worked to our favour on one occasion, said she had heard a loud bang above her, and that Jo hadn’t answered the door when she had gone to investigate. Old bat had enough forethought to call an ambulance… if she hadn’t…” Amy visibly shudders, and she runs a hand through her hair, mussing neat curls as she says, “Jo had collapsed. Too much alcohol, too little nutrition. They kept her in hospital for a few days…” A tear travels a lonesome path down Amy’s cheek. “When I got there, I knew that I hadn’t looked out for her enough, knew that I’d failed her, failed River, failed myself.”

Yaz stands, frozen, whilst the other woman works to maintain her composure. Yaz is not surprised, of course, she has seen Jo using alcohol as a crutch on two other occasions, but it does not make the truth of the matter any less sorrowful. She panics for a moment and thinks of what she had seen in Jo’s flat, whether there was anything there…. But she had seen no bottles in the cupboards, none discarded around the flat. After a few moments Amy sniffs and looks at Yaz, shrugging.

“She completely clammed up after that. She wouldn’t speak to me, she wouldn’t speak to anyone. It was the turning point, though, when we knew we had to do more, and me and Rory arranged that she join us down here. And the rest… you know. There was never a good time to bring it up after that, but I just had a feeling your car crash might have disrupted the peaceful stability she had finally got. She was doing much better than before but now…”

“Now you’re worried this could lead to something like what happened last time?” Yaz finishes for her, dread crawling up her spine.

Amy shrugs. “She certainly hasn’t drunken as much. That occasion in the pub, when you were first here, that was the worst since she arrived, but… you know, when I first met Jo at university, I’ve never seen a more raggedy looking scrawny ass who believed she had to do everything alone because she had never known any different. River melted that resolve to an extent, but her death changed things. That’s why she began pushing me away after that first incident.”

Yaz is left speechless by that. It explains a lot, and eases some of the nervousness in her gut that worried it was _her_ that was the reason for Jo’s not talking, but it doesn’t make the knowing of it any easier. Plus, Jo has always been so _open_ with her, once Yaz had worked her way past the other woman’s defences…

Amy looks at Yaz with an intensity so bright it almost burns. “Yaz, I understand your reservations, I get you want to give her space because she’s her own person but if she’s stopped replying to your texts then we need to find her and check in before anything escalates. And to be honest with you? I think you’re the best person for the job.”

Yaz takes in a deep breath, allowing it to shudder out of her. Here she had thought Amy was the expert in Jo, her closest friend and yet senior command is delegating her the task. Suddenly Yaz realises the bizarre situation she is in: she is the one who has known Jo the least amount of time, and yet is the one who has managed to pry open that treasure chest to her heart and mind the most. She hadn’t even realised how far she has come. She feels suddenly lonely, stood at the top of a mountain, in the stratosphere. 

“I don’t mean to put this all on you,” Amy says, obviously sensing Yaz’s trepidation. “But I’ve said before I’m completely flummoxed by how much she’s opened up to you already. If it could be me then…”

“I understand.” Yaz says, straightening, feeling her resolve slot itself right back into place. “I’ve been stuck in the house for three days, I’m ‘bout ready for some action.”

Amy looks her up and down, eyebrows raised. With a sly smile which covers up a modicum of hurts she says, “Going to bring her in line, officer?”

“If I can find her.” Yaz replies with a jerk of her head. “Any ideas?”

Amy blows air out of her cheeks and pushes herself off of the sofa arm. “Somewhere where no one else will bother her. That give you any clues?”

Something suddenly occurs to Yaz, and she turns to Amy with wide eyes. “I think I might know where.” 

* * *

The walk to the dell Jo had shown Yaz on their first trip out together is longer than Yaz had remembered, and by the time she has slogged her way up the hill from the village she is breathless and grateful for the wind that blows on her face. She takes a moment to compose herself before she heads off the main road and across the small, deserted car park, across the small grassy turf and into the woodland.

It is quieter under the canopy of trees, the wind held back by their protection, and Yaz finds herself tuning into the sound of twigs snapping under her shoes, to the running water of the stream which bubbles and splutters. She follows it downwards until the ground becomes level, and then she can see her ahead of her, sat on the edge of the bank , knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she stares down at the water which flows past her, passing her by. Jo.

Yaz stops and gives herself a moment, just one singular moment in which she tames her heart rate and quells her nerves; this is only Jo, for goodness sake. The woman looks the same, it has only been a few days, after all, but she looks pale in the dimmer light of the woodland; despite all the sun they have been exposed to, Yaz would still describe her hue as pasty. Shoulders are hunched, a body clothed in loose trousers and t-shirt (long sleeved). Hair bunches around her shoulders, blonde strands looking like hay. Yaz devours her; those few days suddenly feel like a lifetime. When she feels ready, she steps further into the dell, and clears her throat.

Jo jumps so harshly she almost topples into the stream, and only catches herself by the grace of her pinwheeling arms, which ram her hands into the ground behind her. She looks up at Yaz with wide eyes, panting harshly, and she blinks a few times before she says breathily, “Yaz?”

“Sorry.” Yaz says with a wince, having taken a few hurried steps forward at Jo’s display. She is now standing within touching distance of the other woman, and when Jo scrambles to her feet, brushing her lanky limbs off, Yaz longs to simply reach her hand out and touch the other woman’s arm. She holds back for a moment, however, seeing the wariness in Jo’s eyes.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Jo asks, still catching her breath. She runs a hand through her hair.

“You stopped replying to my texts. I was worried. We agreed to text every day.” Yaz says plainly, leaving Jo very little room to manoeuvre.

“Ah, yes…” Her face scrunching up, Yaz sees Jo mentally scramble for the words to explain. “Well, the things is….” She looks down at her booted feet, clearing her throat, and then her head shoots up and she looks Yaz up and down. “How _did_ you know I’d be here?”

“Because I know you’re not feeling great.” Yaz says with a shrug. “Because you trusted me to know this is where you come when everything gets too much. You stopped replying to my texts, Grace says you called in sick. It’s all a bit worrying, babe.”

 _Babe._ That slipped out of nowhere. Jo’s eyes widen a little and a pink tinge rises on her cheeks, and her mouth opens as she searches for the words to say, to explain. “I’m sorry,” She finally comes out with, voice a little hoarse. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know, but I will.” Yaz says with a small smile. She steps forward, then, hoping to take Jo’s hand or to cup her cheek, swoop into that moment of tentativeness and encourage Jo to lean into Yaz’s care. When she does however, Jo steps back ever so slightly out her reach, eyes once more on the ground, hand curling into the ends of her sleeves, effectively closing off her hands from Yaz’s. 

“I, err,” She begins, squirming like an eel. “I lost track of time, honestly. Like I said, not good with time. Goes all… wibbly wobbly.”

“Jo…” Yaz begins, but Jo’s rambling continues.

“Pond kept cropping up, like some kind of ginger alarm clock.” She scrunches her face up and looks up at the canopy above them. “Although under here it’s pretty hard to tell the time. If I had to guess I’d say…. Ermm…” She turns in a circle, desperately searching for the time, desperately searching for something else to obfuscate with, to distract. She forgets Yaz is very much attuned to way she works, even if this is different, if this feels strange, in the way everything has felt strange today.

“I don’t want to know the time, I want to know what’s going on.” Yaz says calmly, patiently, not giving away the nerves which tie her stomach in knots.

“Right. What’s going on…” Jo says, finally tipping her head back to look at Yaz. She looks nonchalant, unbothered. “Not much ‘round here, let me tell you. Sedate little place. Never thought I’d see myself in a place like this. At least there’s a river…” She looks down at the stream which flows past them. She smiles fondly, a quick twitch of her lips upwards. “Always liked a river…”

“Jo, please look at me?” Yaz asks her, and her tone is bordering on pleading enough to grab the other woman’s attention. Jo’s throat bobs as she catches herself before she speaks anymore, and her eyes are wide and slightly frantic. Yaz has seen desperation in her many years on the force, from people who feel like the world is on their shoulders and if they slip for just a moment it might just tip off. The thought grounds her, the fleeting remembrance of her promotion encouraging her; it helps her remember that if she can do good by Jo now, that her own calmness in this moment will pay off for her emotionally as well. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” She repeats, getting across her sincerity a lot better now the other woman is meeting her gaze.

Jo stares at her, mouth open, eyes unblinking for a moment before something hardens in her gaze and she shuts her mouth with a click, jaw tightening. “There’s nothing going on.” She says firmly.

Yaz takes in a deep breath and tests the waters. “Please don’t shut me out.”

Jo’s cheek twitches. “M’not. There really isn’t anything going on.”

“Really?” Yaz asks. That door that she had envisioned as being shut in her face is here, now, painted across Jo’s face like a carefully constructed mask of obfuscation, encouraging her into a masquerade. Yaz is reluctant to dance.

“I don’t need checking up on like a child.” Jo says with uncharacteristic vitriol. “Was this Pond? Has she put you up to this?”

“No,” Yaz replies patiently. “This was all me. You stopped replying to my texts. It wasn’t fair, Jo.”

“My phone died.” Jo answers too quickly, eyes brushing over their surroundings, narrowing on nothing in particular as she avoids Yaz’s gaze. In a twist of fate which works to Yaz’s advantage, Jo’s phone suddenly makes a ‘pinging’ noise in her pocket. She winces, screwing her eyes shut.

Yaz sighs, stepping forward, ignoring the slight curve of Jo’s shoulders away from her as she does. Yaz lets emotion, which cuts deeper and rawer than even she had been anticipating when she says in a slightly hoarse voice, “I miss you. Really miss you. I’m happy to give you space if you need it but you can’t just stop replying to me like that. There are two of us in this.” She sighs again when she sees Jo’s shoulders droop, guilt crawling across her face like a spindly spider. Yaz is glad, at least, that she has got that through. She takes a softer approach, unable to help herself. “You realise it’s been just over a week since we first kissed? Feels like a lifetime to me. That’s how happy I was those days.”

“You couldn’t have been, not towards the end of the trip. I spoiled it.” Jo says, shaking her head as if dispelling water from her ears like a wet dog.

“You didn’t spoil anything.” Yaz assures her. “I was happy to be with you, to provide you with comfort. The happier memories, and the less happy memories, in neither circumstance do my feelings for you fade.”

Jo’s eyes clench shut again for a moment, as if she is in pain, and she takes in a shaky breath, that mask cracking, the paint veneer flaking off. Yaz takes a moment to wonder how they have gotten from complete intimacy last week to playing at paper faces this week. Her heart hurts, and her determination swoops in like a painkiller. If she can _just get through_ to her now.

“Whatever you’re carrying, and whether you feel able to tell me or not, just know it’s still not going to change anything. I’m here.”

“But you won’t always be.” Jo says bluntly.

Yaz assumes this is in reference to her departure from Kennock Cove. She itches to take Jo’s hand. “Hey, remember what I said? I’m willing to work things out.” When Jo says nothing to that, she adds. “Besides, I’ll always be in that big old head of yours, won’t I? And…”

“… In my heart.” Jo finishes for her, voice barely above a whisper, testing the words on her tongue. Yaz feels a victorious swooping joy in her chest.

“Then you know I’ll stick by you, as constant as that heart that beats in your chest.” Yaz says, words meaningful and beautiful one her tongue, like she is speaking a sweet summer’s day. “Come whatever.”

Jo is breathing heavily, and they have edged closer together in the time it has taken Yaz to carefully hook her fingers under that mask and _pull._ Hazel eyes meet Yaz’s own, as deep as the depths of the ocean; Yaz longs to dive those depths. She has before, but now there is something in the water, a shark which taunts her. Good thing Yaz is such a strong swimmer.

Her hand slowly cups Jo’s cheek, and the other woman leans in just as slowly, as if unsure of herself; Yaz wonders whether she is scared that if she were to move too fast, she might end up toppling over and dropping all she holds close to her chest. When her skin makes contact with Yaz’s fingers, that spark crackles and settles in Yaz’s chest and her heart ramps it up a notch. Jo is relaxing, and Yaz with her as she does so, hoping that if they can settle back into this familiar pattern, Yaz can get a gauge on what is happening within those hazel eyes.

“I really am sorry about the texting.” Jo finally admits, words a light puff of breath across Yaz’s palm. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Of course I was going to worry you _goose._ ” Yaz says, a light laugh carrying on that strange yet comfortable epithet. “Come on. After all we’ve shared.”

Late night whispered revelations, daytime sunlit confessionals, actions which spoke louder than words, and they are here, in another moment, another action as Yaz holds her hand to Jo’s cheek and solidifies those memories and all they represent. In this moment which carries them forward towards something which has led to nights apart and a confession in the heart of a dell over hearts in distress. The mountain they haven’t summited yet, the one which Yaz cannot see for the clouds which surround it, the same clouds which might soon devour her sight of Jo if she lets the other woman get too far ahead.

“You’d hate me if you knew.” Jo admits eventually, the words carrying in the wind which gently blows through the calm serenity of the dell.

“I wouldn’t.” Yaz counters, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. “I could never hate you.”

The idea seems preposterous.

Jo scoffs, shaking her head. Yaz holds her gaze, breathing steadily, aware this is the moment the cloak of mystery Jo wears around might be either be ripped off or tugged on even further. She is close, so, so close.

“Don’t do this alone.” She near-whispers, the air around them still, the wind having died down, it seems, to make the words Yaz delicate picks from all she has learnt from Amy, and all she believes, as fragile as a leaf, able to withstand the air between them as she says, “You don’t deserve to do this alone.”

Yaz sees something change in Jo’s eyes, as if walls that have been crumbling for weeks have suddenly grown strong and solid again. She holds her hand very tentatively to the other woman’s cheek as Jo’s lip twitches as if to curl, and then she very carefully pushes herself away from Yaz’s embrace. Yaz winces.

_So close._

Flummoxed, Yaz fights a frustration at her inability to get through. It tempers her next words with a tinge of desperation. “Why are you fighting against anything which might help? There’s two of us in you and me and there can be two of us in this as well. How ever things have happened in the past, this is _now._ I am not going to sit by and _hope_ you’re okay because I need you just as much as you need me!”

Yaz hopes it does not sound like she is accusing Amy of any wrongdoings; her words are fuelled by desperation and are not eloquent in the slightest. She cannot let this slide when it seems so self-destructive on Jo’s behalf. Not when it was also hurt Yaz, too. She is fed up with being hurt, of feeling down beaten. Yasmin Khan has risen above the bullies, above a man in a flat who dared punish a woman for his own sins, and it encourages her to rise above the most dangerous of all those things which nip at her ankles, which had propelled her to Kennock Cove in the first place, not realising that Yaz would find the place, and the _person,_ who would help her rise above that danger: her own demons.

Jo is still persistently evasive, although her wide eyes fix on Yaz for a moment before trailing down to look at the river which flows unremittingly past. Slipping away. Yaz cannot let Jo slip away.

“Will you at least let me be with you?” Yaz would prefer, when making this vague statement, to be with the other woman physically, but she leaves it open, knowing compromise is a better place to hedge her bets. “Don’t shut me out. We both deserve more than that.”

Jo sags, mouth hanging open as she breathes hard, hands curling into fists and then her fingers savagely splaying out again. The babbling of the stream sounds more like a torrent of water to Yaz as she waits for a reply. When it comes, it carries on that torrent so that Yaz barely hears it; it is then she realises that what she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. “Will you walk back to the village with me?”

“Wha-” Yaz begins but then shakes herself. The cloth is wrung dry, she will not achieve anything else today. Walls remain standing with Yaz on the outside. Was she foolish to think declarations like hers might sweep away years’ worth of self-preservation? Something shivers down her spine, the wind which blusters them today, perhaps, although to Yaz it feels like the daunting prospect that perhaps these declarations could not save from her own demons after all. She stomps it down, pulverizes it between her feet. “Yes. Of course, if you promise not to shut me out?”

Jo closes her eyes and her head twitches to the side, a small smile lifting her lips in what Yaz might deem fond exasperation. Good. She thinks. Be exasperated by me fondly; I’m not going to let you do this to yourself for whatever unexplained reasons. Let your affection for me carry you through this storm and reach me on the other side where I shall stand resilient to it, because I flourish in being the one privileged enough to help you. I know I do, I have done, so why now am I coming up short?

What is it?

What has changed?

“I’ll text.” Jo says, looking at Yaz with shadowed eyes, as shadowy as the canopy above. “Properly, this time.”

Less than Yaz had been hoping for yet still something. She sighs. “Okay.”

They begin to walk, within touching distance of each other. Yaz hesitates for a moment before she reaches for Jo’s hand, tangling cold fingers in her own. This is the physical promise of her support, the balm to herself. And Jo lets her, and it gives Yaz hope.

Jo is a spooked animal in the face of Yaz’s solid presence, at this moment, but Yaz can see flickers of the woman she knows, the one who has leant against that pillar for support and provided her own in exchange. Whatever this _thing_ is, which hunts Jo within the woodland, has not reckoned with Yasmin Khan, right on its heels. 

Slightly chaffed from her attempts today, Yaz could either let uncertainty envelop her and get lost in those woods herself, or she can catch glimpses of that woman she knows, and come back fighting.

Yaz will always come back fighting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, sorry... not going to find out what Jo is hiding just yet 😉  
> I've been away in Cornwall this week- just back! I have been posting pictures on Twitter if you're interested (@walkerlister1) and will be making a Tumblr post soon too (walker-lister)! Also because of the trip i have not replied to any comments, so will get on that asap! 
> 
> See you Sunday! 😊


	27. Falling Thick and Fast (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I'm sorry about this.
> 
> Enjoy....?

Yaz stands on the edge of her patio and it is as if she can feel the world turning beneath her feet. Everything looks the same, the raw beauty of the sea and the sky, and yet she is aware of how everything changes, how each wave is unique, each cloud impermanent. This moment is one moment and will never be the same as the next moment and the world keeps turning beneath her feet and yet Yaz stands completely still, finding her feet, grounding herself against the furious fleeting nature of it all. She is on solid ground and yet… aware that things are changing.

She perks up as her eyes catch the movement of another figure down on the beach. Jo. There, as always, at sunset. She moves with the earth until she comes to a stop on that rocky outlay. Immovable now. And yet things are changing within the other woman; Ryan had called her an enigma, and Yaz has cracked the code and seemingly seen more than any other person, and yet one digit remains elusive, just out of her reach, moving with the turn of the tide and the swirl of the clouds and the turn of the earth.

But Yaz is standing still, unable to decipher it, not pulled into that dynamism yet, but she hopes…. Soon. Soon Jo might let her in.

The constant movement opposed to her stillness makes her feel strange, but it is only a natural difference, and she is not feeling despairing since her conversation with Jo earlier that day. Insecurity has raised its head and she has questioned whether she should feel ashamed in herself, annoyed that she had not managed to get through to the other woman, especially seeing as Amy had called her the ‘special’ person with the ability to get closer than the rest. But Yaz knows that one conversation will not fix everything, knows that these things take time; she has dealt with almost every aspect of humanity in her line of work, and she knows hurts are not so easily healed. She herself has needed a change of scene and the words and encouragement of others to heal her hurts; and this insecurity is proof enough that she is not quite restored yet.

Yaz giving Jo space and keeping in touch with her is, for now, enough; she realises there is nothing more she can do or say to make her position known. She is a presence for Jo on her phone screen, and in return Jo is also a presence for Yaz. Yaz is relieved she had understood Yaz’s needs and is willing to uphold her end of the bargain, apologetic for shutting Yaz fully out. And so, the door stands ajar, the code _almost_ cracked, and Yaz stands still.

When she had departed from Jo after their walk back to the village, frustration had simmered within her, and she had longed to turn back and embrace the woman in her arms. The ticking timer counts down mercilessly towards her departure, and Yaz feels chagrined that she cannot spend every moment she has with the other woman. But she knows that time apart is not time wasted if it will bring both of them through the reverberations of the car crash on their relationship, if it is what Jo needs.

And, she reasons, they might have eons ahead of them if they can weather this storm. This is not the end of all things, and so Yaz remains content to stand still for this moment.

She can watch Jo watch the sunset and that is enough. For now. 

* * *

On Wednesday, the sun shines bright and uninterrupted by any clouds, the sky a clean azure which soothes Yaz’s soul and fills her spirit with confidence. Nature has reverted to its usual pace in Kennock Cove. Everything will work out.

She spends the afternoon with Ryan and Jack in the coastguard station. The two men are washing the boat and Yaz keeps them company and finds company for herself as they rub water congested sponges across the body of the boat, soap suds foaming up and then dripping lazily down into disparate puddles on the ground. Yaz watches it mindlessly, finding the repetitive movement of sponges and water oddly soothing.

“Man, this boat _stinks.”_ Ryan says as he reaches across the hull of the boat, muscled arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. Since when had the lanky boy Yaz had known at school become so chiselled and muscular?

“She does not, do you my dear?” Jack says from his position by the tiller, and the caressing of his sponge over the surface of the boat is almost sensual. Yaz looks away, disturbed.

“Ahh no, wait, that’s you.” Ryan says to Jack and the other man braces his arms on the boat, head and eyebrow cocked.

“Are you looking for a sponge in the face?”

Ryan cocks his eyebrow back. “Best use that sponge on yourself if your stench is _that_ ba-”

Ryan is interrupted by the sponge which hits him square on in the face, making a soppy sound as it splats against him before dropping to the ground. Yaz has to admit she is impressed with Jack’s aim. Ryan looks up at Jack with astonishment, the front of his shirt splattered with water, and soon his expression turns to one of daring.

“Ahh, mate, now you’ve started somethin’.”

Yaz hastily moves out of the way before she herself becomes soaked in soapy water as the two men engage in a battle of the sponges. Ryan does not need a good aim to completely douse Jack in water, and the other man soon retaliates by throwing back the sponge which had hit him, water trailing after it like the tail of an arrow. Yaz laughs, feeling lighter than she has in a few days, and it fuels the fire of her reassurance.

A little later, when Yaz, having appointed herself as referee, has called it a draw on their sponge fight and Ryan and the other man have slunk off to change their now sodden shirts, Yaz sits out on the front of the harbour, legs stretched out across the sand, the coastguard station behind her. The beach is busier today, a smattering of tourists lounging about on the beach, encouraged by the warm weather, and Yaz can spot heads bobbing about in the water as small waves peak and crest. When she glances to her left, she can spot Oscar out of the corner of her eye, the other man watching, with a face like thunder, as a small child pedals one of his bikes in an arbitrary circle whilst his father looks on. Yaz smirks, and she turns back before she can notice Oscar’s head turn to look at her.

“The American, man.” Ryan says as he plonks himself down next to Yaz, his own long legs stretched out next to hers. “Loves a good display of his athletic abilities.”

“To be fair, Ry, you did start it.” Yaz replies with a small smirk and Ryan rolls his eyes, scuffing his shoe into the sand.

“Of course you take his side!”

Yaz shrugs. “He was hosting me at _his_ coastguard station.”

“Surprised to see you here actually,” Ryan says, and Yaz picks up on the teasing intonation in his tone. “Thought you’d be with Jo.”

Yaz sighs. “She needed some space, after…” She trails off, knowing Ryan will understand what she means.

“Ahh, I see.” He replies, and he looks at her. “You alright with that?”

“If she needs it, then yes.” Yaz says. Then she adds, because she cannot help herself, “Not that I don’t miss her.”

“Yaz, mate, you’ve fallen thick and fast, haven’t ya?” Ryan says with a grin, but when Yaz looks at him the smile is not teasing but a genuinely display of happiness on her behalf. “Might have warned ya off her, at first, but now I’ve come to understand her, I can see she’s not just a mad woman in a box flat.”

“I think you’re calling her ‘kooky’ might have done if she weren’t so…” Yaz says, trailing off, lost for words as to how to describe Jo.

“The one? The only? Your soulmate?” Ryan asks, and this time he most certainly is teasing.

“Stop it.” Yaz says and gives him a light shove, but there is a small smile on her face. “She’s just… herself. Jo.”

Only now she was not quite herself, the car crash bringing a shadow across her sun-like personality. _You’re doing enough,_ Yaz reminds herself.

“So, have you thought more about what you’re going to do?” Ryan asks her. “If she’s as into this as you are.”

Yaz nods, and she does not hesitate to tell Ryan, her years-old schoolfriend, the hope she holds close to her heart. “I’m prepared to work something out. I… I’ve been offered a promotion, actually, back home.”

“Yaz! That’s brilliant!” Ryan exclaims, and he slings his arm around her shoulders and shakes her lightly. “Oh my days I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks, Ry.” Yaz says sincerely. “Came ‘ere thinking they thought I weren’t any good and now I might be promoted to sergeant.”

“You could really make some positive change there, Yaz.” Ryan says. “Make it better for everyone.”

“I hope so.” Yaz agrees. Her eye is caught then by Oscar, who she notices is staring at her whilst he leans against the side of his small sales hut. She narrows her gaze, and only tears it away from his when Ryan asks him a question.

“So, you hoping you and Jo could manage long-distance?”

Yaz shrugs. “I… That was what I suggested. Obviously it’s not going to be like I’m never coming back ‘ere but it’s going to be frantic at first with work… She just needs some time at the moment to figure things out. She’s got a lot going on in her head, I think, just needs to process it all before she can come to a decision.”

“Grief does strange things to ya.” Ryan says with an undercurrent of heaviness. Of course, Yaz knows what weighs his voice down: she remembers when his mother had suddenly passed when they were thirteen, and Ryan had been the one to find her. She remembers his absences from school, lonely lunch breaks, dark clouds and long silences.

Yaz’s gaze is caught by Oscar’s again in that moment, and she looks back at the man, confused but not showing it, by the knowing smirk on his face. So caught up in wondering what the other man is staring at, she does not hear Ryan’s next words.

“Sometimes it makes ya act in a completely different way. Makes ya… not yerself.”

Perhaps if she had, she might have had some battle armour to protect her for what was to come that evening. 

* * *

Yaz is lost in the comforting swell of warm evening air, good food, and excellent company. The lighting in Grace and Graham’s cottage is soft, glinting in the evening light, and Yaz is lulled into the comfort of that warm glow like a ship coming into the harbour.

Graham is halfway through a story about his teenage years and losing his shoes when he attended a game of his favourite football team when Yaz’s phone buzzes. She fishes it out of her pocket and discreetly checks the screen under the dinner table.

It is from Jo.

_Can you meet me on the beach at sunset?_

Yaz’s stomach flips, and she takes in a deep steadying breath as her thumbs hover over the screen. After a moment, she types back: _Yes of course xx_

“You alright, love?” Grace asks and Yaz’s head whips upwards to see Grace looking at her, wine glass in one hand. Yaz guilting puts her phone away.

“Yeah. Sorry. Was from Jo.” She explains.

“Ooh! Booty call!” Ryan, who is on the wrong (or possibly right) side of tipsy chimes in with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ryan!” Grace berates and gives his arm a light slap. She turns her attention back to Yaz. “She alright?”

“Think so.” Yaz says, taking a sip of her own drink to steady herself against the sudden onslaught of nervous anticipation. “She wants to meet me later.”

“ _Definitely_ a booty call.” Ryan says with raised eyebrows, and Grace smacks him again, this time around the head.

“Sorry, what’s this? A ‘booty call’?” Graham asks. “Is that…? Well in my day we called it a bit of ol’ hanky panky.”

“Graham!” Grace protests, but there is a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Oh yeah, real romantic that. ‘Hanky panky’.” Ryan says, shaking his head.

“Not any worse than ‘booty’ call.” Graham says. “What are you? Pirates?”

“No, grandad, it’s…” Ryan sighs, putting his head in his hands. “Actually, don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m not gonna explain.”

Yaz finds herself laughing at the conversation, and it soothes the nerves which has suddenly flared up sharp and spiky. She takes another sip of her water and she breathes out long and slow.

Everything will be alright. 

* * *

She tries not to build up any expectations as she wanders down to the beach, but it is incredibly difficult. Each slap of her sandals against the pavement seems to travel up her body, and Yaz feels sweat pooling on her back in the dull heat of the evening. She hopes the walk will clear her head.

She thinks she should be clear-headed for this.

She spots Jo as she comes down onto the harbour. She is the lone figure on the beach, silhouetted against a sun soon to be wedded with the horizon. She is not looking Yaz’s way as the other woman approaches where she stands on the beach by the rocky outlay, but she must sense her presence, for she turns when Yaz comes to a stop a few feet away.

“Hey.” Yaz says. She fidgets, itching to step forward and embrace the other woman, but she holds herself still for now, as she has committed to do. Still. Keep perfectly still and assess the scene.

“Hi, Yaz.” Jo greets her, and her voice holds only a sliver of her usual enthusiasm. She is neither pleased nor displeased to see Yaz.

“You okay?” Yaz asks, trying to get a gauge.

“Yeah. M’fine.” Jo replies. She is not looking directly at Yaz, just in her general direction. “How is erm your… you. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Ribs are a lot better.” Yaz says. Jo nods, eyes tracing a pattern in the sand which lies between them. Yaz still cannot quite grasp the tone, the feel of this conversation. Time to start asking. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking.” Jo says. “And I…”

She looks suddenly nervous, foot tapping against the ground and making her whole leg vibrate. Yaz steps forward, hand raising to take Jo’s hand and soothe her as it would normally do, but the other woman steps out of her way. Yaz freezes. She is not still, she is frozen. Something bitter like foreboding seizes her lungs.

“Jo, wha-”

“I don’t want to see you anymore.” Jo says, words rushed, and she lets out a deep shuddering, speaking slower and clearer. “I can’t see you anymore.”

Yaz’s lungs are being crushed, her throat is closing. “Oh…”

“It’s not going to work.” Jo says, and the words sound rehearsed, and she is the one who is too still now, none of her usual mannerisms present, just the tapping of her foot. “I can’t.”

“I…” Yaz begins, voice croaking as she desperately looks for the words to say. But her head is spinning, a whirlwind picking up as bitter disappointment settles into her blood, her bones. “Why? What is it?”

Jo sighs, and her eyes close, her face turning from Yaz. “It’s a lot of things…”

“Like what? Is it- is it too soon? Was my suggestion not good? Could you not do long-distance?” Possible explanations spill from Yaz, and she tries to bottle up the ones that do not make sense. _Is it me?_ She thinks, but she does not say it, suddenly too afraid.

“It’s a lot of things.” Jo repeats, and she looks at Yaz, eyes catching at the light of the setting sun so that Yaz cannot see what emotions they hold.

Yaz’s hope is crushed, pulverised underneath her feet. She tries desperately to save it. “Are you sure? I’m not trying to convince you you’re wrong but… are you _sure?_ Because I need you to be sure before I have to try and come to terms with this.”

Jo has been off-kilter; those who care for her have seen it, and if this decision has come from a wrong source, a conniving source which has twisted thoughts in Jo’s mind then Yaz needs to know before she takes the brunt of the twister’s hit, before she accepts there is nothing she can do to change Jo’s mind.

Jo nods. “I’ve been thinking. I’m sure.”

“Oh…” Yaz says again, and the sound is caught on a sob, and she tries to suppress it, tries to swallow it down but it rises thick and fast and leaves her on an exhalation. “Could we… but we can stay friends?”

It sounds pathetic, Yaz knows that, but if she can get that assurance that whilst they may not have reconciled as a together, as Jo _and_ Yaz, they can still be reconciled as two separate people.

Jo steels herself for something, Yaz can see it in the way her shoulder’s straighten and her jaw hardens. “No. Yaz, I _can’t_ see you anymore at all. I don’t want to.”

“No….” Yaz shakes her head.

“Yes.” Jo replies, voice as brittle and as cold as ice. “This is the way it has to be.”

“Why is this the way it has to be?” She demands, taking a step forward. “Did you not think to consult me before you made this decision, see how I feel? Why are you closing yourself off from me now? Why are you not even giving me an explanation?!”

Jo sighs, and her gaze turns towards the sunset. Yaz can see her laid bare in that moment, the exhaustion underneath her eyes, the shadows which cling to her back as she bares her face to the sun. Yaz feels that cold hand of dread and she _knows,_ she knows then that this _thing_ which has been keeping Jo captive has persuaded her to this way of thinking. Her determination fires up in her again, and she feels as if she summons the power of King Arthur himself as she rises to the occasion.

“No, this isn’t you saying this. This isn’t the woman who professed her thanks to me for being a port of call, for being an ear to listen, for being a source of comfort. This isn’t the woman who said she would show me the universe if she could because she found peace and happiness in my presence. This isn’t _you._ You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t just do this me! Not when I’ve made it plain that my feelings are just as strong as yours.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of, Yaz.” Jo says, and her eyes flicker from Yaz to the sand once more and Yaz can see her surprise at Yaz’s outburst and Yaz leaps forward, digging into that weak spot.

“I know you, and I know you’re not capable of _this!”_ Yaz is persistent, burning with adrenaline. “Whatever this is, whatever this _thing_ is that you’ve been dealing with, don’t let it spoil what we have! We have something amazing, I- I’ve never felt as alive as I do with you! You don’t just trust in a person the way we have with each other without there being something special there, something this thing thinks it can break apart, but it won’t! I won’t let you push me away! I won’t let you think you have to be alone!”

“Yaz, please-” Jo begins to say, neck twisting as if there is something uncomfortable lodged in her throat.

“What do you think could be so bad that I would push you away? What is so bad that you are now trying to do that to me? Can’t you imagine how I feel?” Yaz asserts, pointing assuredly at the ground, chest heaving and heart pounding. 

“I know what you feel.” Jo says words a harsh whisper like there are sand grains in the back of her throat.

“Do you?” Yaz says, eyebrows raising as she stabs herself in the chest with her own finger. “Because if you do, if you _really_ do then _why_ are you doing this? You know me, you know I’ve meant every word I’ve said to you! Everything I’ve done to express how I feel!”

Jo sighs, nostrils flaring as she shakes her head.

“What is this?” Yaz asks her, words cracking like dry earth. “If you felt differently now and you explained it to me, then maybe I could at least not feel so suddenly alone on the water. You don’t- you don’t form a bond with someone like we have only to have it destroyed like _this_!”

Surely that is correct? Surely when Jo has made her feel so alive, crackling and sparking with electricity, that spark cannot simply die like a faulty fuse? Surely whatever is making her act like this cannot blow the grid? Yaz feels the power draining from her, the realisation sinking in that this is happening. From the expression on Jo’s face, Yaz’s words have an effect, shards of icicles cracking to reveal vulnerability. Her words sink in, and then sit on Jo’s skin and simmer there, but rather than being melted by a new fire fuelled by faith in Yaz’s words, the ice solidifies, forming in the hardness of Jo’s eyes and her jaw as it clenches, biting down on any other feelings that sit buried below and swallowing them.

“I know what you want, Yaz.” Jo says, and her words feel like an overture to something which waits behind the curtain. Yaz remains silent, waiting for her answer, breathing heavily, her hope leaving her with every breath. “You want someone to save.”

“What?” Yaz replies, confusion pulling her brow into a frown.

“Gives you a kick helping people out, doesn’t it?” Jo says with an unamused smirk. “Feeling down on yourself so you turn to a hopeless case.”

“Jo, that’s not why I became friends with you, not why I did any of this.” Yaz insists, that same ice in Jo settling into her veins as she is suddenly frozen, waiting for the curtain to be pulled back. “If I wanted to help you it was because I care about you. More than anyone else.”

Jo holds her gaze for a moment, hazel eyes watery in the sunlight and lip curling slightly. Quick as a flash of a blade being pulled from its scabbard Jo’s next words spit with vitriol and the curtain is pulled back and the destructive display behind is revealed.

“Is this because you’ve got some kind of saviour complex? Couldn’t help people in your job, so you’re trying to save me?”

“No!” Yaz denies vehemently. “That’s not fair.”

It hits her in her own weak spot, and it punches and bruises with a deep, _aching_ pain. And Yaz was not expecting it, not from Jo…

“Saw the poor, grieving widow and thought ‘this is a case for PC Khan! Can’t feel good about myself so I need to fix people to find any sense of self-worth.’”

“Stop it! Stop this!” Yaz cries, and she I caught between anger and upset, being pulled in two directions and torn down the middle as she grapples to get a grip on the situation. Standing still is no longer possible when her whole world if shifting beneath her. “Why are you saying this?”

The setting sun hits her eyes then and she reels back, unable to see Jo for a moment, and because she cannot, she misses the resigned, discomforted expression on her face. When her sight is returned to her, hand shielding and protecting her eyes, Jo’s face is a mask of derision. 

“You don’t mean this.” Yaz says, shaking her head. She is weighed down with weights which drag her down into the depths of despair, stomach churning as the hurt sloshes around within her, but that determination still sits in its final dregs within her, and she knows she has to try just one more time. “Jo, please, drop this act and just _talk_ to me! Or show me!” Yaz thinks of the papers she had found in Jo’s flat yesterday, ruminations and remembrances which have obviously led her to this decision. Yaz mentally skims through her memories, desperately searching for anything she can grasp onto that might just get her in behind that door, get her to pick the lock and finally have Jo let her in. “Come on. We both deserve better than this.”

And then Jo draws the knife out and plunges it back in once more. “You don’t deserve me. Run, Yaz, run away and avoid your own problems by trying to fix others. But trust me, it _won’t work._ ”

And for one agonising second Yaz believes she might actually be capable of the harsh horridness Yaz sees in her eyes.

Yaz is torn once more, feeling as brittle as a flimsy piece of paper. One half bears words written in slanting sloping writing which exudes her pain, her self-loathing curling around her like a snake, her sense of betrayal. The other half has words written sharply, jagged, cut deep into the page with anger. She is so angry that Jo has turned away, so angry she has lowered herself to this and taken Yaz down in the process. Self-preservation wins out only slightly over self-loathing.

“How dare you.” She says, and this time it is her turn to rumble with thunder. “All I’ve wanted is the best for you, and for you to turn my own insecurities which I shared with you in _trust_ on me like this…!”

Jo looks on at her with unblinking eyes, and if she is receiving all of Yaz’s words and absorbing them into herself. Her shoulders droop imperceptibly, and within her pockets hands clench into tight fists. Yaz does not see this, blinded by the sunset as she removes her hand and takes a step forward.

“I’m not going to let you treat me like this. Not when I know you don’t mean it.” Yaz says, and she takes a step back but Jo does not move from her position, now the one who is still. Still emitting her stony rock wall, jagged edges for Yaz to scrape her skin on. “Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this easily, not when I have no explanation. I’m just done talking with you right now when all you’ve done is hurt us both.”

Yaz looks into Jo’s eyes then and meets those familiar hazel eyes which are filled with an unfamiliar darkness, the light gone from within them, drained and now beaming from the sunset which highlights her pale skin, making her look ethereal, a vengeful god illuminated by a sunset which fuels her malaise. There is nothing of the woman Yaz knows in those eyes, nothing of the universe. The sun is all consuming and Yaz cannot see the stars beyond.

“I miss _you_.” Yaz says, and she turns on her heel, striding off across the beach.

“I meant what I said, Yaz.” Jo calls back to her. Yaz turns back to Jo the other woman. Jo is framed by the sun, and it eats at the edges of her shape, as if it is consuming her. Yaz cannot see her for the blaze.

Yaz cannot see anything of Jo in that woman. 

* * *

Ryan is waiting for her at her cottage, a figure made of shadows which slips away from the wall and approaches her as Yaz strides up with her own shadows biting at her heels. The sun is set, now, the light dims, and the days ends, the fire in the grate flickering to embers. Yaz is extinguished.

“Hey!” Ryan calls, and his voice is too light for this night. “Ya forgot your keys- Yaz! What’s wrong.”

Only then is Yaz aware that she is crying.

“I think it might be over Ryan.” She says, words breaking into shards of glass. Her throat feels like it bleeds as she speaks them. “She’s not- she won’t- she-”

All confidence and all words Yaz might have clung to have now left her; as she had turned her back on the sunset, on Jo, the setting sun had eaten up any hopes of turning this all back around as it had taken the day so cruelly with it. Yaz had found comfort in the stars as she had peered up at them with Jo, but now they seem to mock her with all they represent.

“Yaz?” Ryan asks, shaking his head in confusion at Yaz’s nonsensical words.

“I don’t understand, Ry.” Yaz sobs, and the words catch in throat and she hiccups. “I don’t _understand.”_

Confusion still sits at Ryan’s brow, but concern for a friend takes over and he swoops forward and envelops Yaz in a bear hug. Yaz can smell his aftershave and the faintest hint of soapy water, and she leans into him, grateful for a comforting touch and the support of a friend.

She sobs her eyes out until she feels there might be nothing left of her. 

* * *

In the stark light of morning, Yaz calls her mum.

“ _Sweetheart! This is a nice surprise! And so early, too!”_

Is it? Yaz hasn’t checked the time, the hours that must have passed since she went to bed to simply lie there, numb in body but searing with pain in her mind.

“Hi, mum.” She replies, and her voice is no more than sandpaper scraping against her throat.

_“Yaz? What’s wrong darling?”_

Words escape her, lost with her exhaustion. A chocked, “Mum…” Is all she can manage.

 _“Yaz?”_ Najia presses again, the concern in her tone so evident it almost seeps through the phone.

After another broken breath, Yaz summons the capacity to speak and the words to say what she can.

She tells her mum (almost) everything.

There are some things Najia does not need to know, but Yaz spins the tale of their easy friendship and then steady ascent into something more, how they have shared and grown with each other- or so Yaz had thought. The tale goes on and the fast descent from togetherness to separation is laced with her concerns about whatever it is since the car crash which has impacted Jo’s relationship with her, and finally how Yaz had never expected such cruelty from the woman, and it has left her head spinning.

 _“Sweetheart, maybe it’s better if you just walk away?”_ Najia suggests once Yaz has finally stopped talking.

“What?” Yaz blurts out. “Mum- no. No. I can’t.”

_“Well you’re coming back here soon, anyway, aren’t you? So shouldn’t you just write this off as a nice thing over the summer and try and contain the hurt you feel?”_

“Mum, I can’t I- She’s special.” _Besides, the hurt is already coursing through my veins._

_“Sometimes we think we know people but really we don’t at all.”_

“But Jo’s different, she’s been different from the start” Yaz protests. “She’s called me Yaz since we first met, she’s shared so much with me! We were helping each other!”

_“Yaz, love, I know you like to help people, and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing but sometimes no matter what you do-”_

“I wasn’t just trying to help her! Not to make _me_ feel better!” Yaz protests, angry now and she sits up, shifting her weight to one side so as not to disturb her ribs. The words hit too close to what Jo had accused her of last night, and the pain flares up like fire doused with fuel. “I thought things could work with her, mum. I was willing to try and make things work.”

Najia lets out a long sigh. _“You haven’t known her long, darling, and you’ve only known her on your holiday, it-”_

“It wasn’t the amount of time it was how we spent it!” Yaz bites back.

_“She’s practically a stranger-”_

“She’s not, she’s different! She’s- she’s Jo.” Yaz takes a steadying breath. “That wasn’t her last night, _I know it._ ”

_“Are you sure, darling? Because it pains me to hear you hurt like this.”_

Doubt born from fear stirs in Yaz, the doubt which had seeped in in the aftermath of those words, when she had thought Jo actually might be capable of the harsh words, had meant them. But Yaz had been reacting to the conversation, her natural defences rising up. Now, as sunlight streams in, that merciless watcher back over all of them, it still sits there, but something in her _knows_ that it is not the way Jo naturally is- a commons sense built from many days and precious nights spent together; one conversation cannot eclipse all the others, even one as heavy to take as last night’s. No, Yaz will need more proof, more evidence, before she can in any way begin to believe that last night was meant.

Still, the words still burn at her skin and her throat when she thinks of how Jo had turned Yaz’s own insecurities on her.

“I’m sure.” Yaz says. “I just- I don’t know what else to do, mum. I can’t- how can I go forward from this?”

 _“Well, sweetheart, I think you should wait for her to come crawling back with her tail between her legs.”_ Najia says, motherly protectiveness in her tone. _“And if she doesn’t… You’ll be back in Sheffield before you know it.”_

Her mum does not quite understand- of course she does not; to her Jo is now the woman who has hurt her daughter, and Najia is going to want Yaz nowhere near her. But it does not help Yaz, although the comfort of her mum’s voice has, and she feels less stranded, warmer and more enclosed in love.

“Mum? That’s not all.” Yaz says. Now her head is clearer, she turns her thoughts to herself, feeling as if she can say them with an inkling of self-worth. “My boss phoned. He’s offered me a promotion.”

“Oh, Yaz!” Najia exclaims.

“He wants a meeting to discuss it when I’m back but… I’m going to be made a sergeant, mum!”

“Oh, darling, that’s fantastic! Can I tell your father?” At Yaz’s assent Najia adds, “See, you’ve got good things waiting for you back here. Forget about this woman.”

Yaz sighs. If only she could show her mum how Jo is branded onto both her heart and mind. 

* * *

Although her talk with her mum has not helped with the morass of emotions within Yaz, it has helped her feel slightly more calm, and she can push those to back of her mind like atmospheric music as she collects herself to go and pick up Bill from the nearby train station in Bodmin. She had almost forgotten, and it was only a text from the other woman yesterday which had prompted her to remember. She had panicked for a moment over how she would meet Bill, having insisted after feeling guilty for almost forgetting, but Grace had gracefully offered the use of her car at dinner the previous night. 

Feeling slightly ragged, hair bedraggled and face unwashed, Yaz sits idly in the car as she watches the station entrance for her best friend to appear. It will be good to see her again; suddenly aching in her chest for Bill’s easy presence, her supportive friendship. She has felt adrift all morning, hearing only from Ryan who had sent her a quick text to check up on her. She looks down at that text as she waits for Bill, letting the supportive words sink under her skin and warm her from the inside. She resists the temptation to flick over to her conversation with Jo, knowing it will bring a melancholic longing for those times, times she had not realised had passed. Times she longs to begin again, to survive this storm. She clings to stubborn hope like one who cannot accept that the story might end there, on the final page, with the conclusion one does not want. Books. Yaz has not touched the pile of books which rest on her bedside table in many days; she wonders perhaps she should simply leave them in the cottage when she leaves, a relic to times which have passed her by while she was so confident in standing still. 

“Yaz!” A voice suddenly calls, and Yaz startles, jumping in her seat to see Bill peering in at her through the open driver’s door window. That face, that bubbly face full of joy and delight at seeing Yaz is enough to bring a smile to Yaz’s face, and when Bill rounds the bonnet of the car, throwing herself into the passenger seat, Yaz allows her to sweep her into an awkward hug, mindful of her ribs.

“Bill.” She says, the name coming to her aid like the relief of a cool drink on a hot day.

“God that was a slog!” Bill exclaims as she shoves her backpack into the backseat. “Almost missed my connection and then there were no bloody sandwiches! I mean, really? They’re crap at best but I’m so hungry I think it might be knawing a hole in my stomach! Can we get food?”

“Yes, of course.” Yaz says on a light laugh at her friend’s exclamations. It feels good to laugh; it has not even been that long since she last felt joy, but it has felt like a lifetime since then.

“Can’t believe you almost forgot about me.” Bill says as she straps her seatbelt in. She looks at Yaz with a cheeky grin, a sly, knowing look in her eyes. “Were you with her? Your dream woman?”

Yaz’s smile drops, hands sweating where they rest on the steering wheel of the car. Car. Car crash: the literal event which has begun an emotional one of Yaz and Jo’s. Suddenly her seat belt feels tight- oh, no, that is her chest. Tight with tears as they sting at her eyes. Memories and emotions rush to the front of her mind and she clenches her eyes shut, fighting the onslaught of salt water.

“Yaz?” Bill’s concerned tone is what breaks the dam, and suddenly Yaz finds herself sobbing into the steering wheel, heavy breaths in and out like her lungs are weighed down with lead.

Bill’s hand rubs across her back and anchors Yaz to the harbour, the single rope holding her back from a complete breakdown. When she has collected herself, when the sobs have diminished, she turns to Bill with tears, like jewels, in the corner of her eyes.

Bill’s face is concerned, but she has obviously understood within the context why Yaz is crying, and she looks resolved and steadfast as she says. “Right. Once we get back to Kennock, we’re talking. But first, there’s a pizza place near here. I’m buying you a large one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to end on Bill as that's a little bit of positivity, right? Right? Anyway, I promise you that darkness never sustains! Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought- I'm having a shit time irl right now so would really appreciate it- even though this chapter was a killer (even i read it back and went omg my babies)
> 
> I've made a tumblr post about my trip to Cornwall, including a picture of the (almost) sunset! You can find it here: https://walker-lister.tumblr.com/post/630252051055755264/rising-tides-roadtrip
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> come say hi!


	28. Falling Thick and Fast (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I say this everytime, but.... I'm really scared what you guys are going to think about this.... Darkness never sustains....

“Holy shit, Yaz.” Bill says once Yaz has bared her soul, heart and mind to her best friend, laid open before her, nothing left to lose by confiding in one so close. “Something doesn’t add up here.”

“You see what I mean?” Yaz replies, piece of pizza in her hand forgotten. They are sat on her patio, afternoon sun shining down on them, large pizza on the table. “How can that have all been fake, Bill? It can’t have been! It was yesterday that was a charade, for some reason.”

“Yeah, but I also don’t feel like this absolves her of what she’s done, what she’s said to you.” Bill scoffs, shaking her head as she takes a bite of pizza. She talks around the mouthful. “It’s horrible.”

“I know, almost too horrible…” Yaz says, nibbling her own slice. She discards it a moment later, thoughts coming thick and fast. “And what I don’t understand is _why_ it was necessary. Why, if she wanted to end things, she had to turn it ugly like she did. It was a bolt out of the blue. Why suddenly shut herself away? Why hurt us both? She assured me it was nothing I’ve done, but what if it is? what if there is something I-”

“Woah, woah, Yaz, mate, stop blaming yourself.”

“She confided in me, Bill. What if it was something I’ve done that’s changed that?”

“From what I’ve heard you’re incredibly lenient with her, Yaz.” Bill says with a cock of her eyebrow.

“Bill, her wife died in a car crash and then we go into one, albeit smaller. You’ve got to see how that’s-”

“Yeah, I get that I do.” Bill says. “And… maybe that’s twisted her thinking? Maybe she can’t think straight right now, and that’s why she said those things to you. So, you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Yeah…” Yaz says.

“But that does not mean she should have said those things to you, hurt you in this situation.” Bill leans forward, fingers fiddling with a piece of crust. “I can’t say whether this is the end of it or not, mate, but what I can say is that I think you need a few days for yourself. Let everything cool down, leave her alone long enough that she begins to feel the guilt, _really_ feel it.”

“But, what if she…” Yaz trails off, the fear of that looming shadow coming to mind.

“She’s got friends, yeah?” Bill interrupts her.

“Yeah, but…” Yaz begins, thinking of how Amy is seemingly as lost as she.

“Then take some time for yourself! God, Yaz, this is _your_ holiday! Take some self-care!” Bill says with a shrug as if it’s as easy as that.

“I was!” Yaz insists. “The time I spent with her, it was… amazing, I’ve never felt or done anything like it before.”

“Woah, Yaz, spare me the details.” Bill says, holding a hand up.

Yaz rolls her eyes. “I’m not just talking about the sex. I’m talking about all of it! She’s not just… not just some summer fling, you know that! All those times I got your advice! It’s all just been a whirlwind.”

A whirlwind it has been, moving so fast, under the near-constant heat of the sun pounding down on them. And a whirl _pool,_ too, spinning Yaz down and down until she cannot see anything else but Jo. Flashes of her face caught in happiness, in interest at Yaz, in amazement at Yaz, all clash together like disparate pain splatters with images of her face last night, contorted with something horrific, something shadowing the sunny days. An oncoming storm.

Doubt crawls in again as that face imprints itself on her retinas. “Maybe I’ve been stupid? Maybe I threw myself into things too fast. I’ve barely gotten my bearings.”

Bill tilts her head to the side and sighs, chewing thoughtfully. “I can’t say, Yaz, I ain’t never been in love with someone before but… when you think about what you’ve thought and felt, does that feel real? Clara didn’t work out for you, that spark left, so what about this? Screw that summer fling nonsense. You offered to take things long-term, yeah? And when you made that offer, did you mean it?”

“Yes, I-” Yaz mouths hangs open, and she looks to Bill. “What did you just say?”

“Ermm, quite a lot, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“You said, ‘you’ve never been in love before.’”

“…Yeah?” Bill says, not understanding Yaz’s point.

The pizza slice drops from Yaz’s numb fingers, her eyes see nothing in particular and everything at once; it as if she has known this for a long time, and suddenly her memory is recovered. The truth has been hiding itself away and it has taken a crack in the lens, a shadow of doubt about the past two months for Yaz to rediscover the truth, make out patterns in the morass of emotions. Now she realises it, she wonders how she could have been so blind. Perhaps it was self-preservation? She has thrown herself so far into the depths of her affections for Jo and yet this last stone has not sunk in yet because once it does Yaz will be lost forever to that tide. Well, there is no fighting it now and that stone is pushed into the water.

She loves Jo.

“Yaz? Earth to Yaz? You okay?” Bill says, leaning forward.

“I love her.” Yaz says, the words feeling like precious diamonds in her mouth.

Bill’s eyes flicker back and forth. “Well, yeah? Glad you’ve caught on.”

“Of course all those feelings are right because I _love_ her.” Yaz says, hands splayed with palms upwards.

“Wait, have you seriously only just realised?” Bill says, and when Yaz nods she groans, putting her head in her hands. “Yaz, mate, you’re hopeless!”

 _Of course_ she loves Jo. _Of course_ she loves the woman who had captivated her from the beginning; aligning her thoughts and that word, ‘love’, is so simple now Yaz barely understands how she missed the clues to her own heart, the evidence right in front of her face. Perhaps she was too _emotionally involved_ to understand, in simple terms, the emotions involved. They had come to mind in St Ives, she remembers now, having forgotten, she supposes, in the aftermath of all that had happened since that time, and she had not spoken them as it had felt too soon, too much. And now, she realises, she might be too late…

Yaz has been reading a lot of Arthurian legends and like Lancelot and Guinevere, could she and Jo be destined to never be together? Was destiny saying it was never to be so?

The cruel irony hits Yaz and she suddenly finds tears welling up in her eyes. More tears. Yaz hates it but she cannot stop it.

“Oh my god….” She mutters on a sob.

“Yaz?” Bill looks to her in alarm.

“This whole time I thought this was nothing like a summer fling, I never wanted anything like that. And now… maybe that’s all it was meant to be.”

All this time, Yaz had thought this was the opposite of a soulless summer fling, and whilst it certainly had soul, and heart, and body and mind, perhaps it was never going to be more than, like the summer, a season. The cruel irony of the thought that Yaz might have gotten that which she had never wanted from the start and come out of it with her heart and soul bruised and bleeding.

“Woah, woah, woah, mate. It’s alright, you’re just still reeling from yesterday and the car crash, I bet, and…. It’s been a lot. Like I said, you need some time to yourself and _then_ maybe you can start to process what you’re feeling. Just… Yaz, not to sound like a broken record but, _relax_ mate.”

“I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy.” Yaz says as she pushes tears away, sniffing. She knows she is catastrophising, hates herself for it because she knows that were she not so shaken she might not have gotten herself wound up like this but…. She feels fragile, spun from fine thread. She feels far away from herself and yet those declarations of love, they feel like her. She only wishes they could have come under better circumstances.

“It won’t be.” Bill says, with refreshing honesty, and she leans across the table and covers Yaz’s hand with her own. “Yaz, I trust your judgement and I can see you’re concerned about her. If you weren’t I’d be marching over there right now to give her a piece of my mind. But you’ve got to put yourself first, now. If it helps, you’ll be giving me a corker of a time if you let us go out on Friday night. There’s a club in Wadebridge we could go to? Have some fun?”

Yaz good-naturedly rolls her eyes, “I know what you mean by ‘fun’.”

Bill spreads her arms wide and shrugs. “What? Nothing wrong with a healthy sex life, Yaz. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.” Yaz says and throws a piece of her crust at Bill. She can feel herself starting to relax once more, the tidal wave of worries flattening out and slinking back into the far backwaters of her mind. A few days to help ease the pain, a few days to recover; this was going to make healing from bruised ribs look easy.

She is caught between hope and dread that they might run into Jo; the village is, of course, small, and it is likely. She dreads if they might, because she does not know what more will pass between them, but she also hopes, because she cannot accept this is the end. _Will_ not accept this is the end. Not when there are so many loose ends that have not yet been tied up, so many mysteries yet to be solved. PC Khan, were she involved, might be able to straighten matters out, but right now, Yasmin Khan is worse for wear, worn down and eroded like a cliff-face. And yet like a cliff-face she still stands strong.

She is down, but not out.

* * *

The air buzzes with an electric static of an artificial kind.

Yaz’s whole body feels like it is buzzing. The reverberation of dozens of feet hitting the ground in arbitrary patterns travels to her core and she jumps along with them to avoid getting knocked over by the crowd. Bill’s face in front of her moves like flickering film in the strobing light of the night club, glimpses of expression caught in joy and laughter, and Yaz watches detached, buzzing in the heat of the night, feeling a part of it but also apart from it.

The last two days have been filled with Bill. Bill who, a faithful and trustworthy best friend to the last, has occupied Yaz with other things, doing her best to draw Yaz’s mind away from the sore, gaping wound inside of her, and to resting and relaxing to ease that pain instead. Yaz has avoided the bookshop like the plague, and walking along the harbour she had been sure to dodge Pond’s Pastries, too, unable to face Amy without dredging up everything which sits heavy within her.

And now, bright lights and flickering colours shine in her face and envelop them in her embrace, and Yaz’s body buzzes with the feeling of electricity, of being electrified in the moment on the dancefloor, all other thoughts erased.

That is, until she spots a very familiar face during the break in the music.

Jo is by the bar, talking with someone, although Yaz cannot see who; she probably would not have noticed Jo if she was not so used to seeing her, if she was not imprinted on the inside of Yaz’s eyelids when she closes her eyes. She is turned halfway to Yaz, so she gets her sideview, her face chiselled from neon and the glitter of the disco ball which hangs in the centre of the club. It is not the largest establishment, but it is packed to the rafters, and Jo dips in and out of Yaz’s eyesight as the people around her begin to sway to the next song being played. She looks the same, except sweatier, as they all are, in the oppressive heat of the building, blonde hair clinging to her temples, the skin of her neck and chest shining. Her chest. She is not wearing the necklace Yaz gifted her. Yaz’s own still sits against her chest, and to see the absence of Jo’s necklace takes her breath away.

She stumbles slightly on the dancefloor, bumping into a man next to her who gives a gruff grumble at Yaz’s apology. Bill looks to her in concern but Yaz shakes it away.

What is Jo doing here? And why? Why when Yaz is here did she decide to visit this club?

Fate is playing a cruel game tonight.

Yaz cannot stop her gaze from trailing over to Jo, catching her in glimpses every now and then. She tries to move to see who Jo is talking to, but the dancefloor is too crowded with bodies.

When Yaz has glanced back perhaps ten times Bill catches her and follows her line of sight. When she sees who Yaz is looking act, her face hardens, and she grabs Yaz’s shoulders and pulls her around until Yaz has her back to Jo.

“Don’t think about her, okay?” She shouts over the din, and Yaz nods, breathing hard.

Yes, not thinking, just healing. A little hard to do when the occupant of all her thoughts is stood behind her and Yaz feels her presence like a tangible weight. She has not seen Jo since those devastating words at sunset, had fought the compulsion to creep out at sunset and seek her out on the beach from her lofty position at the cottage. She wants to turn back, she wants to drink her in and see how she looks, _properly_ looks, but the lighting is pulsing and shifting and Yaz shifts with those lights and keeps her back to Jo. It is hard, but Yaz trying her best for Bill, who has helped her out so much so far, and besides, a night club would hardly be the place for a reunion.

But the woman she loves is over there.

The woman she loves.

Loves.

The nights goes on, and Yaz’s head gets fuzzier as the heat intensifies, as her tired body continues dancing, expelling days’ worth of tension through the free movement of her body. Her surroundings blur into colour and shapes, and she is only brought into sharp awareness again when she spots a long streak of fiery ginger, and her eyes snap to the back of Amy Pond’s head.

She is dancing with Rory, the pair entangled with each other. Yaz cranes her neck around them, but she cannot spot Jo. Is she still by the bar? Is she alone? Was she talking to Amy earlier? Yaz discreetly moves so that she is turned towards the bar, and sure enough Jo is still there, and she is- drinking.

Bill’s hand on her arm prevents Yaz from striding over there immediately and knocking the drink out of Jo’s hand. How could Amy let this happen? Is she aware Jo is drinking? Someone should stop her-

“Yaz, stop! She’s not your responsibility!” Bill insists.

But Bill does not understand. “She shouldn’t be drinking!”

“Yaz, _not your responsibility._ ” Bill says. “Might not even be alcohol in that glass.”

Yaz lets out a long breath, which is hardly a relief when the air inside is so cloying. It might not be alcohol, that is true. And she really is not Yaz’s responsibility; if Amy and Rory are here, they can keep an eye on Jo.

Again, Yaz is lost to the music and the atmosphere, and her body is beginning to feel the strain now, the buzzing of the club turning to a buzzing of exhaustion as the night tips into the early hours. She is about to tell Bill she is calling it quits and she wants to return to the cottage to crawl into bed when she spots her once more out of the corner of her eye. But that is not what makes her freeze. It is who she is with, whose hand she is holding as she pulls him out of the club with her.

Oscar.

Yaz is not conscious of the movement of her body, she is not conscious of Bill calling her name, nor is she conscious of how that then draws Amy and Rory’s attention to her. No, she is unaware of all of this as she follows Jo and Oscar out of the club.

She has to push through throngs of people, and her ribs get jarred but she does not care and instead adopts her officer tone and stance and demands people move out of her way. When they do part Jo and Oscar have had a significant lead on Yaz, and when she bursts through the exit and into the clear, cool night air, Yaz has to get her bearings for a moment, head spinning.

She looks around her, at the small side street just off of the high street the clubs is situated on. There a few people stood around smoking cigarettes, and the bouncer outside the club, but she cannot spot…

She sees them, then, and Yaz is rooted to the spot, her feet refusing to move and her heart barely daring to beat.

Jo is resting against the wall of the nightclub, just a little ways away from the door so that she and Oscar are half-concealed in shadow, and Oscar… Oscar is leaning against her, his palms resting on the wall on either side of her head, and he is kissing her. And she is kissing him back.

Yaz cannot help but watch this sick display, the way one of Oscar’s hands comes away from the wall and strokes through Jo’s hair, and the way she leans into it as though starved of touch. The worst that comes, though, is when Jo opens her eyes, lips still locked with Oscar’s, and they spot Yaz, there is no surprise or shock or guilt, there is only a sense of victory in the way she presses deeper against Oscar as she still maintains eye contact with Yaz. She is not surprised Yaz is here. She is doing this on purpose.

Actions rather than words. This is the proof, the evidence Yaz needed to convince her Jo really meant what she had said on Wednesday. She is trying to push Yaz away, actively trying to hurt her with none other than _Oscar,_ and oh, if Yaz feels immovable now, rooted with shock which turns to hurt which turns to anger which turns to furiousness.

No. She is not going to take this. Not now, with fire in her blood, running through her veins, and the woman she loves kissing someone else in order to hurt her for something Yaz does not even know she has done wrong.

“What the _fuck?!”_

Jo closes her eyes again, leaning into Oscar’s kiss, and the man hums low in his throat. Yaz feels bile rise in the back of her throat. She hears Bill stumble out of the club, calling her name, but she does not turn to her, and when she hears Bill’s muffled exclamation she pushes forward, pulling Oscar forcefully off Jo. The man stumbles, wiping his mouth, but he turns to Yaz with an expression of mischievous glee on his face, delighting in her agony. Yaz turns to Jo and the woman is looking back at her calmly. Too calm. But her eyes are clear and bright in the night light and Yaz can see she is completely and utterly sober.

“If this is your way of dealing with things then it’s a lousy way of doing it.” Yaz says to her with a shake of her head. Jo simply looks on at her, and it is the look of a spectator, sitting back, out of the action. That is _not_ fair.

“Why are you doing this? What did I do to you that you’re treating me like this?” Yaz demands. “Look, if you’re feelings changed or for whatever reason you’re pushing me away you should have just explained! You could have talked to me like all those times I told you I was there to listen to you- _did_ listen to you! I don’t understand this! Any of this! How could we go from what we had last week to this?”

“She doesn’t want you around, Miss Khan, so just leave her alone.” Oscar interrupts, and his calmness if grating. His entire demeanour is grating.

“Stay out of this.” She spits at him, and Oscar raises his arms in mock surrender. She turns back to Jo. “Please just explain. Let’s just sort this out. I can’t- I don’t want to lose you.”

“You never had me.” Jo says, and her voice is as distant and calm as her eyes. “You should move on, Yaz. After all, you’re only on holiday, aren’t you?”

“No. You know what I said. I bared my soul to you. I thought you bared yours back. I thought we had an understanding of each other. I thought we helped each other. Is _this_ what you want me to think of you, Jo? That this is what you’re really capable of?” Yaz asks, exposing her, desperately trying to trip Jo up in this performance. She has had _enough._

“Maybe you don’t know her-” Oscar begins to add but Yaz holds her hand out to him and points in a threatening manner.

“Maybe you shut up.”

Oscar bares his teeth, caught between a smile and a snarl. Jo just continues to watch her, eyes giving away nothing and Yaz knows that this is not the time, in the early hours outside a nightclub on a street she could not name, to try and have it out between them, not when this doppelganger of Jo stands before her, so her anger and her exhaustion sweep in and Yaz, pepped on by Bill’s encouragement, makes her feelings known in the plainest way possible.

“Why have you created this fantasy? This _act?_ Is this because you’re scared? Lost everyone else in your life, so don’t let anyone get too close without regard to their feelings, without realising it was too late anyway and they’ve fallen for you! Well guess what? River is gone! And maybe if you’d have been a bit braver you would have realised that and recognised that and seen that I am right here and was willing to take on all of this!”

“Do you want my _thanks?”_ Jo spits.

“No! That’s not my point. My point is that I wish you’d been braver! You deserved to be braver for yourself, and for me. You took it too far if _this_ was your aim. And I wish I had been braver, too. If both of us had been braver, maybe it might never have come to this.”

If maybe Yaz had demanded she be kept in the loop, demanded to know what was going on so she could really help then perhaps whatever has brought Jo to this decision to put iron clad barriers up against the gates of her barricades might not have swamped her, swamped them both in this noxious, poisonous air; it would have felt cruel at the time, but it might have brought later kindness if she had played bad cop and demanded the truth.

Yaz can hear hurried footsteps behind her, two pairs, and she can practically feel Amy and Rory’s gazes on her and Jo. Here they are, a spectacle in the street, Yaz baring her pain with an audience. This is not how she would have wanted their second conversation to go, would have wanted it to happen in the light of day when both their heads were clearer, but fate is twisting Yaz’s arm behind her back and a grungy street seeped with her own sadness and humiliation is what she has been given. How far they have fallen.

There is something indeterminable in Jo’s gaze, then, and Yaz does not know what it is but it is enough of a crack in the mask that she gains her advantage once more; for the first time, she _wants_ Jo to feel bad. 

“I don’t believe in _this,”_ Yaz says, and she gestures with a finger towards Jo’s demeanour. She is still leaning against the wall in an almost casual manner. “But I can’t fight it anymore. I can’t keep putting my own head on the block when there’s nothing more I can say, apparently, to convince you that everything I have done and said was because I- because I care about you. So deeply that I have hurt myself in the process, because I thought for once, someone kind might make you realise you don’t have to be alone.”

‘Love’ is too precious and delicate, spun like threads of gold, for Yaz to bandy it about in a dingy street with others watching, but it sits on the tip of her tongue and in her eyes and in the straights of her shoulders as they stoop.

“Maybe I should just go home.” Yaz says, a finality in her tone which lets them all know this conversation is nearing its end, that like a strong stone pillar she will not be moved. “If you truly think that I should just leave?”

Jo says nothing, but it is enough of an answer for Yaz.

She looks between Jo and Oscar, who is still watching her like a foul predator, a hyena laughing at its prey. She drags her eyes from him, refusing to acknowledge his presence anymore, and instead turns her eyes on Jo. She can feel the tears glistening in the corners, and her vision swims as she says, with a resignation she hopes resonates with Jo, “I wish I was enough. I wish we could have both weathered this storm a little better.”

And then she turns, and she does not look back.

Jo calls her name, but Yaz does not turn. Amy and Rory, who are stood there wide-eyed, Amy’s eyes flicking from Jo to Yaz, try and catch her eye but Yaz does not turn to them. The only person she turns to is Bill, shocked and bemused, and gesture with her head for them to leave.

She does not turn, and she does not see Jo forcefully shove Oscar away from her. Does not see her head bow and her body collapse inwards.

She barely registers anything until she and Bill are in a taxi, travelling through deserted streets, places Yaz does not recognise. Perhaps she should demand this taxi take her to the train station, wait around until sunrise for the first train home.

But Yaz is not going to go home.

Not yet anyway.

Because perhaps it is naïve, stupid, the hope of someone who has never been in love before, for whatever she had had with Clara, it had not been _this,_ but she cannot let go of Jo that easily. She is relieved, glad she got the words she had said out in the air, in the open, and adrenaline still races through her veins as she desperately tries to calm her racing heartbeat, but she hopes they are not the closing address on their relationship. She hopes instead, they come at the interval, preceding a second act in which Jo might see sense. And if this is truly the end, a thought so painful Yaz can barely think it, then Yaz is glad she has aired her grievances, although she curls shaking hands into fists as she thinks about the fact she has had to air them in this way _at all._ Why had things come to this? Why has the tide turned?

Has Jo well and truly lost all her affection for Yaz?

She can’t believe it, hates how it makes her doubt herself. Hates how it has turned the wonderful, fantastic woman Yaz knows into something lesser. Images of Clara with another girl so soon after their relationship ended come to mind. Does it make Jo as bad as her?

No, Jo is special, she is different, and her hurt comes differently, it stings with a deeper impact, digging under her skin and making her feel as if she is boiling. She is the woman Yaz loves, and apparently, she has turned from Yaz. For whatever reason, she does not trust Yaz, and she does not trust herself to trust Yaz, and in doing so has taken them both down. Yaz feels at the end of her tether, body sweaty against the leather upholstery of the car, the image of Oscar pushing Jo up against that wall and pressing his lips to hers on repeat, and she cannot look away.

“Why the fuck did she have to choose him?” Yaz spits. “Bastard hates her.”

Bill shrugs. She has been uncharacteristically quiet, and Yaz knows she was giving Yaz the time to breathe. “Don’t know. All I care about is she doesn’t hurt you anymore, Yaz. I’m glad you could say all that to her face.” 

“I feel so tired, Bill.” Yaz complains, putting her head in her hands. She is too tired, even, to cry. “I’m sick of this. What if that was the last conversation I have with her? Maybe it might wake her up to my side of things, but what if it just confirms her conviction?”

“Yaz, you’ve done everything you can.” Bill states. “And if she doesn’t reach out after this, to at least offer you an apology, then she’s not worth it. I know you love her, but she would not be worth it.”

“That back there was not the Jo I love, Bill.” Yaz turns to her, voice broken, heart bruised and bleeding. “Why do things never work out for me? Am I a bad person? Do I not deserve this?”

Yaz had finally thought she had something in which she was deemed worthy enough, legitimate enough. After a childhood defined in large part by bullying, and the shock of missing out on the promotion before she arrived in Kennock Cove, this just eats away at the self-confidence she had slowly gained back during her time in Cornwall; the absence of Jo taking with it any positive until Yaz cannot feel anything but numb.

“Maybe it’s a sign that you’re worth is elsewhere?” Bill suggests. “That the promotion in Sheffield is really the thing that is going to finally make you realise you are enough.”

“I thought Jo was that thing. I thought I could have both.” Yaz’s suggestion of making things work long-term now seem hilariously depressing.

“I wish you could, Yaz.” Bill says, face creased with sympathy, and Yaz lets herself fall into her embrace. “But I know you. I know you’ll come through this. You’re the strongest person I’ve met. You’re never down for long.”

Yaz nods and sighs and closes her eyes as she leans into Bill’s embrace. “I think this one might take a bit longer to come back from.” _If ever._

It almost does not feel real, all of this, the late hour twisting and blurry Yaz’s perception of reality; almost as if it is a midsummer’s night’s dream.

She has spent her holiday reading tales of myths and legends. Perhaps she has also been living in one. 

* * *

Yaz dreams she is stood on the beach, the tide coming in and washing over her bare feet, lapping at the bottom of her jeans and making the fabric damp. Around her, faces she recognises storm into the water, calling a name. Yaz cannot move, though, and she cannot make out the name they call. She is apart from the action, her feet sinking deeper into the sand and no matter how hard she fights her muscles will not be stirred into action. The people’s voices get louder and the waves get closer and higher and there is salt water in her face and alarm sounds out across the beach. Someone is missing. Someone needs help and Yaz is stuck she can’t move-

Yaz wakes suddenly, jumping up from the duvet and then slumping back down again, ribs protesting slightly. She blinks heavily, trying desperately to hold onto the faint recollection of her dream. Why had she been so frantic? Why had there been shouting? Why had there been this alarm going off?

Oh.

Oh no wait.

It’s someone knocking- no, pounding on the door.

Yaz scrambles hastily out of bed, and in the time it takes for her to pad downstairs to the front door the pounding has only increased its ferocity.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming!” She says, and with a huff, pulls open the front door.

Amy Pond stands, framed by blazing bright light which catches at the wisps of her ginger hair so that it appears to be alight, fist raised to knock. In her dazed and half-asleep state, Yaz can only blink at Amy blearily for a moment until her face comes into focus. It is tight and lined with stress.

“Amy?”

“Yaz, finally! Is she here?” Amy says, peering past Yaz into the cottage. 

“Who?” Yaz asks, running a hand over her face.

“Jo! Obviously.” Amy says with a sigh which borders on a frantic exhalation, as if she is struggling not to panic.

Yaz blinks at her. Had Amy forgotten the conversation which had happened in dingy light and a darkened alleyway? “Why would she be here?”

“So, she’s not?” Amy asks, and at Yaz’s shake of the head she lets out a long breath, almost collapsing in on herself as she leans heavily against the doorframe with one hand.

Dread creeps into Yaz’s bones. “What’s happened?”

When Amy straightens her face is pained. “Jo’s missing. No one’s seen her since last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... Sorry? Also congratulations to Yasmin Khan for being the dumbest ass alive... 'I'm in love with her' lol no way
> 
> Cliffhanger, I know, but I couldn't resist! Also idk if it's obvious but this is sort of the end of the last chapter and a part of the current one slapped together, so I hope it doesn't ruin the flow or anything! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	29. Give Up the Ghost (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is getting towards what we've been building to this whole time and it makes me very emotional so... I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to @verythirstykhan on Twitter. She's ace. 
> 
> TW: discussions of death, implied reference to suicide (at the very end)

_“Yaz, finally! Is she here?” Amy says, peering past Yaz into the cottage._

_“Who?” Yaz asks, running a hand over her face._

_“Jo! Obviously.” Amy says with a sigh which borders on a frantic exhalation, as if she is struggling not to panic._

_Yaz blinks at her. Had Amy forgotten the conversation which had happened in dingy light and a darkened alleyway? “Why would she be here?”_

_“So, she’s not?” Amy asks, and at Yaz’s shake of the head she lets out a long breath, almost collapsing in on herself as she leans heavily against the doorframe with one hand._

_Dread creeps into Yaz’s bones. “What’s happened?”_

_When Amy straightens her face is pained. “Jo’s missing. No one’s seen her since last night.”_

“What?” Yaz says, barely registering the words.

“I brought her back to her flat last night. I was there this morning, but Rory needed me at the café this afternoon, she insisted I go. I assumed she was still there, but she hasn’t been replying to any of my texts. I thought it would be alright with Grace in the shop but she must have snuck out. God, I’ve been _stupid._ So, so stupid! I shouldn’t have left her alone!” 

“Amy, what do you mean by that?” Yaz asks, her own self seeping through as dread begins to pool in her stomach.

“She was upset, really upset after you left last night.” Amy explains. “We’ve been searching for three hours and there’s still no sign of her!” Amy says, and this is the most upset Yaz has ever seen her, not even the car crash had shaken her this much. Yaz’s heart begins to beat faster. “Yaz, I know you’re mad at her, but I don’t think she’s alright. I don’t think she’s was acting out of genuine hate. That wasn’t _her._ ”

“I know, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I-”

“Yaz, I get it, I really do, but you need to shut up and listen to me now!” Amy says, tone rising. “Be mad at her later, but first we need to find her. Alive. I need your help. As a police officer. As a close friend, girlfriend, whatever you’re labelling it.”

It takes Yaz just one more second of indecision before her mind is made up. Mad she might be, upset she might be, but completely broken she would be if she had denied the chance to help the woman she loves, and it had cost Jo her life. Her _life_. Even the thought of that alone and she feels she is cracking in two. Yaz breathes out slowly and lets PC Khan take over. Cool, collected, efficient.

“Alright.” Yaz says. “Of course.”

Amy looks like she might hug her, but she relents. “Oh, thank you!”

“Where have you searched so far?” Yaz asks as she steps back to allow Amy into the cottage. There is no point in rushing out heedlessly straight away; Yaz needs reconnaissance, and whilst she does not have much experience with missing persons’ cases, she knows that being calm and organised are vital.

“The village. Rory’s been going round knocking on doors asking people if they’ve seen her.” Amy says as she follows Yaz into the kitchen. Yaz grabs for two glasses to fill with water; they both need a moment to collect themselves. “Grace and Graham are doing the coastal path. Ryan’s driving around the surrounding area. Jack’s out on the boat and he’s called in for aid from the larger lifeboat nearby. We were worried she might be in the water.”

To hear Amy say it bluntly like that sends a bolt of adrenaline through Yaz’s body. What if… what if Jo was in the water and what if the last thing Yaz might have potentially ever said to her had been harsh words delivered in self-defence? What if the last conversation she ever had with the woman she loves had been an argument? She tries not to think of the incident that had brought them together, Jo throwing herself off of the rocks; Yaz had been there to save her that time… But now…. Surely someone would have reported it if they saw someone going into the water, though? It’s a beautiful day, the beach has to be busy…

“What time is it?” She asks, suddenly aware she has no bearings on the day or time. So far, her consciousness has been defined by Jo’s absence.

“Six pm. We’ve been searching since three.” Amy replies, taking a long gulp of the water Yaz has handed her.

“What?!” Yaz blurts out. And then she remembers. She and Bill had returned from the club at about four in the morning, and Yaz had lain awake for hours, despite her exhaustion, her brain overloaded and the serenity of sleep too evasive. She remembers admitting defeat and going upstairs to lie down after a meal at about midday, but the recollection is hazy, and Yaz feels very disorientated. She shakes her head to clear it, taking her own gulp of water.

“Yaz, I need to tell you something.” Amy says, tone serious and chestnut eyes swirling with emotion. “Maybe I should have told you sooner, maybe we would have avoided this mess, but I can’t think of that right now. I just need to tell you this because I need you to know.”

“What is it?” Yaz asks. It must be serious, Amy’s tone is laced with heavy implications, and she is willing to spare some time whilst the search for Jo goes on.

Amy sets down her glass and leans both her hands against the kitchen island counter. She lets out a long sigh before she looks up at Yaz. “I’ve told you how she has a history of pushing people away. How she never had the certainty and security of a family growing up, and that River’s death shook that insecurity even further.” At Yaz’s nod Amy scrunches her eyes up and scratches at the skin above her right eyebrow. “River’s death also cemented the belief that she never deserved all of those things.”

“Amy, what point are you getting at?” Yaz asks, impatient at elusive information and facts in fragmented pieces, desperate to put the whole picture together.

Amy straightens. “Jo was driving the car when they crashed.”

_‘Who was in the car with her wife…’_

It makes sense. Yaz has not thought much about it as a fact of the incident, has not thought of the incident much _in_ fact, too caught up in her own emotions to think rationally, as she might do as Officer Khan, to perhaps realise she was staring the obvious in the face. Jo’s panic over driving the car, she remembers, she had beforehand put to being in control of the machine which killed her wife, and afterwards Yaz was so discombobulated and probably caught up _too_ much in trying to do her best to be strong, to prove she could be with a fragile newfound confidence, she had not thought past the _being_ strong; and of course Jo would not talk to her, and the manner in which she had taken them both down was devastating. She has been so wrapped up in whatever _she_ might have done for Jo to close herself off to think much about cold plain facts. So, if Jo was driving the car…

“… And she’s blamed herself for River’s death ever since.” Amy finishes, and something clicks.

As Amy explains further, Yaz feels something begin to thrum in the back of her brain, like a set of violins picking up a tune and playing it with an ominous reverberation. “There was an inquest, after the crash, and they concluded all blame was on the man who hit their car. He was drunk. He’d run a red light.”

Yaz knows this, she has seen the evidence in Jo’s flat, the small clipping of a newspaper which had consigned in ink on paper the blame to one mindless man, but for Jo… Yaz remembers, a memory forcefully pushing itself to the front of her mind, when she had received the text telling her of the criminal’s possible bail, how Jo had been unusually abrasive, insisting Yaz not blame herself. Her unusual impatience had been brought on by being in the car, Yaz had found out, but she had not realised, not until now, that Jo had been so insistence on Yaz’s innocence as this was a touchy subject, and… Yaz swallows, remembers the compliments Jo had showered with, caveated with self-depreciating words like ‘too good for me’. Feelings of lesser, of underserving, have been compounded by this _guilt._ It has shadowed words and emotions with unrelenting cruelty. 

“She could never accept the inquest, though, could never shake that she was to blame for River’s death because she was the one behind the wheel.” Amy says, and her eyes turn downwards, a finger tracing a random pattern on the counter surface. “That’s what made her break the first time. The grief and the guilt.”

Yaz watches as Amy’s finger moves slowly across the counter, the recollections of her disclosing this information to Yaz coming to mind.

“But no alcohol this time?” She asks.

“Well, we can’t be sure of that _now._ ” Amy remarks, and runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I didn’t spot any in her flat when I left, and believe me I checked. We searched it earlier, and still nothing, but…” She shrugs. “I thought she was getting better. I was so pleased when you turned up and she was able to recognise her feelings for you, and not only that but _act_ on them! I thought that maybe she’d given herself a break, finally thought she deserved something and someone who could help her move on, would realise that her blaming herself for River’s death was not fair on her!”

“But the car crash changed things…”

The car crash _had_ changed things. Had changed how Jo had acted with her, reacted to her. Everything Yaz has spat in her face, the pushing away instead of coming to, is because of this guilt…

Because Jo did not think she deserved Yaz’s help, because…

“Oh my god.” She mutters and leans her forearms on the counter. “Is that why- is that why she’s been pushing me away?” She asks, looking up at Amy.

Amy nods, and her finger pushes into the counter, the tip going red with the pressure. “Because she was scared she might have hurt you. And she’s ashamed, Yaz. She’s ashamed of River’s death because she thinks she is the one who caused it.”

_Jo, I’m so sorry._

_Don’t be._

The very first occasion, there, among the wreckage of Tintagel Castle, when Jo had trusted Yaz with the gift of that knowledge, she had already been shutting down Yaz’s sympathy.

“So, for the two of you to get into a car crash like that...” Amy says, and gestures with her hand as she trails off.

Shit. Yaz can only imagine how harrowing that must have been, had _seen_ how harrowing it had been. The tears and pain in the aftermath had slowly morphed into a distance which turned into a cold refusal to see Yaz, which until now she has floundered over, but now…

“She’s been pushing me away on purpose. Acting cruel on purpose.”

“She was shielding the truth from you because she was ashamed. Only… things must have been getting worse for her to suddenly push you away like she did. Not just pushing to hide the truth from you but to try and push you out of her life.”

“I knew it felt wrong, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.” Yaz says. This all makes sense, that such a tremendous and unexplained harshness should come from fear. Perhaps Yaz should be relieved, but how can she be relieved for herself when the woman she loves had thought it necessary to demonise herself in Yaz’s eyes because she believes she is not worthy of her love?

Perhaps Yaz should be kicking herself for not connecting the dots earlier, but she understands now that it would do her no good to think she should have been Officer Khan in this scenario. No, she is far too emotionally involved to think like an officer, and the woman she loves had been spouting insults at her which had shaken her to her very foundations, attacking the self-confidence she has helped Yaz build up and accusing Yaz of only being with her in order to help herself; so _of course_ she was not going to be thinking rationally. Yaz lets out a long breath and straightens.

It is an explanation. It does not erase it, but at least now, Yaz thinks, she has an answer for all that has happened.

Now she and Amy must ensure that they can find Jo before….

Those violins get louder.

“Amy,” Yaz begins. “Why did you not think you shouldn’t have left her alone?”

“She kept muttering something about ‘deserving what she got’.” Amy replies, rubbing both her temples with her fingers. She stops the motion and looks at Yaz, chestnut eyes imploring. “We need to keep looking, Yaz, we’ve been talking too long!”

“Alright, let’s keep calm.” Yaz says, finding her own clarity in reassuring Amy. If anything will prove the monster which had caused Jo to spout those accusations about her wrong it will be this, her helping Jo despite the other woman’s very best efforts to push her away. “Now, everyone’s still looking, yeah? You haven’t stopped?”

“No, we’re double checking places, I know Rory’s already talked to Mrs Grose twice.” Amy says.

Yaz hesitates. Really, asking this is only making sure _every_ stone really is turned. “And Oscar?”

Amy tips her head and cocks and eyebrow her way. “If you don’t think that was the first place I marched over to then you really don’t know me. Bastard hasn’t seen her either.” She sighs. “She only kissed him to prove a point, there is _nothing_ there. And as soon as she is found I’m going to throw each and every one of his bikes in the sodding ocean!”

“I’ll help.” Yaz adds, and Amy shoots her a grateful smile, gone in an instant as she checks her phone when it buzzes in her hand. Yaz’s heart jumps, but Amy’s face drops as she reads the screen.

“Nothing, just… still no sign of her in the village. Rory’s going to head back to her flat and check there.”

“Alright, the good thing here is that we’re organised.” Yaz tries to reassure her. “Can you think of anywhere else she might have gone?”

Amy sighs and shrugs, face creasing with frustration. “Nowhere! Where would she go? She obviously wants to hide from everyone, so where would she go?”

The thought comes to Yaz like a match touching light paper.

Of course.

“The dell.” She blurts out. “Have you tried there?”

“The dell? What’s that?” Amy asks.

“She showed me this small wooded area she goes when she needs some peace and time alone… Surely she’s there?”

“Shit, I had no idea!” Amy says.

“Let me get dressed.” Yaz says, taking another quick gulp of her water, suddenly aware she is still in pyjamas. “Let everyone know we’re going to cover there.”

Amy nods, thumbs already moving rapidly over her phone screen, as Yaz begins to move for the upstairs, but then she freezes in the doorway, another thought coming to mind.

“Actually, I think I need to telephone someone else first.”

“Who?” Amy asks, looking to her in confusion.

Yaz runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “If we do find her, we might need some backup.” She tries to keep her wording as plain but as undramatic as possible, for both their sakes. “If we don’t know what condition she’s in…”

Amy nods, although she looks shaken, but there is her usual fiery quality underneath in the way she swallows her worry, the way her back straightens. “Who’ve you got in mind?”

“A sergeant I know.” Yaz replies, and she nods as she begins to walk down the hallway. “You tell the others. I’ll get her help.”

She runs into Bill coming out of her room as Yaz runs up the stairs, and the other woman blinks blearily at her, massaging her forehead. “Yaz? What’s going on? Was someone knocking on the door?”

“Can’t stop, Bill.” Yaz says as she moves past her, keeping her bedroom door open as she hastily strips so that she can still talk to Bill. “Jo’s missing. We need to find her.”

“Missing?” Bill asks, fist of her hand stilling on the side of her forehead. “I’m sorry? Are we in _Broadchurch_ now? I know that was set by the sea but this-”

“Bill, I’m serious!” Yaz berates as she hastily pulls up her bra straps. “Look, I can explain later, just… I need to go and find her! Could you stay here? Just, keep watch if she comes here?”

Yaz doubts it, but frankly she needs to keep tabs on everyone; too many people involved, and things may get out of control.

“Err, yeah. Sure.” Bill says, still looking bemused but at least not stopping Yaz. Her frantic movement must be quite alarming for one having just woken up.

It takes her barely a minute to change from her pyjamas into jeans and a t-shirt, and only a little longer for her to dig Donna Noble’s card out from the pocket of her leather jacket. Her fingers fumble a little on the screen as she types in the number, but even Yaz herself is impressed with her own composure. It is as if a wave has come over her with the clarity of finally understanding why things have happened as they have. She does not think of the consequences, of the possibilities of what might happen if they don’t find Jo, or if they don’t find her in time… time for what?

No. Yaz is not going to think of that. It will do none of them any good.

“This is Sergeant Donna Noble. Whoever this is better be calling me for a good reason, I’ve just bought myself a bottle of wine and am planning to spend the evening making sure it gets drunk.” Donna answers the phone.

“Sergeant? It’s Yasmin Khan, do you remember me?” Yaz says, shoving her feet into her trainers.

“Oh, yes. The young whipper snapper from Wadebridge. How are y-”

“Sergeant, I need your help.” Yaz says firmly. 

* * *

Yaz holds on tight to the grab bar of the passenger seat as Amy whizzes them up the main road away from Kennock Cove and towards the car park to the dell. Graham had had the foresight to lend her a spare set of keys to his minibus in case they needed it before he and Grace had set off along the coastal path, the bus having been out of the garage since he had apparently given them a lift to the nightclub last night. If Yaz had thought Amy was a whirlwind in the café, she is even more so behind the wheel, and she makes a mental note not to tell Graham that Amy is so thoroughly abusing his vehicle with her driving.

Donna is to meet them at the car park which leads to the dell. She had agreed to Yaz’s request with the attitude of someone who takes their job, helping people, seriously, and Yaz is grateful the woman is so willing and trustful of her, despite only having met once. She is dispatching another police car to go on towards the village and communicate with Rory there. Organised. Swift movement.

They will find Jo. Safe and sound.

“It’s just up here, on the right.” She directs Amy, and the woman veers sharply to the right and they trundle into the car park, dust rising underneath the wheels of the minibus as they come to a sharp stop. Yaz keeps a tight hold on the grab bar until the engine is switched off.

“Let’s go.” Amy says, seatbelt already unbuckled as she opens her car door, practically throwing herself out of the car. Yaz does the same, ignoring her ribs. She is so fed up with the pain. She is so fed up with all of this pain.

“Yaz…” Amy calls her, and as Yaz round the minibus’s bonnet she can see Amy is pointing at something which lays in the grass just off the car park, tyre marks squashing luscious green. Jo’s vespa.

It is lying on its side, discarded, Jo did not even bother to put the stabiliser on. Her helmet lies just to the side of it.

“She’s here.” She says. “That’s good.”

Behind them a car pulls in with much less ferociousness than Amy had, wheels crunching on the gravelly dirt car park. A brake is pulled, a door opened, and then Sergeant Donna Noble is approaching them with shoulders back, head high, and a professional determinism on her face. She is followed by another officer- Sid, Yaz realises, the man who had been with her the day Yaz had stopped the thief in Wadebridge.

“PC Khan.” Donna greets.

“Thank you for coming, sergeant.” Yaz says and turns to Amy. “This is Amy Pond. She’s Jo’s closest friend.”

Donna and Amy shake hands, both women appraising the other. “Another ginger.” Donna remarks, and Amy gives her a small knowing smirk.

“Sergeant.”

“Oh, _you_ can call me Donna.” Donna remarks back.

“I believe Jo might be in this woodland.” Yaz says, interrupting the other women with an urgency belying the situation. Every second counts. “This is her scooter.”

“You can lead this one, Khan.” Donna says, giving her a nod. “You are the most knowledgeable of this situation, I’ll defer to you.”

Yaz’s shoulders straighten automatically, and she is overcome with a strange calmness; the sergeant had allowed her to remain in charge of the search, had trusted Yaz with that ability with full confidence. She lets out a long breath, thinking through how they best do this; that calmness keeps thoughts of another time a woman needed aid and Yaz had failed her away from her ability to handle this pressure. She does not think of what has happened in the past; she only thinks how in control now she is of making sure that the present panic does not carry forward into the future.

“Right then.” She says. “Let’s go find her.” 

* * *

The light in the woodland is dim, the evening sun casting only a week illumination into the shady space through the leafy canopy. The sweet, almost tangy, smell of woodferns fills the air and twigs and branches crunch underfoot as the group makes their way through the woodland, Yaz leading the way as quickly and as quietly as possible; if Jo is here, and she is alerted to their presence by loud footsteps and the hollering of voices, she might be spooked.

Yaz shakes off how strange this situation is, and lets her calm determination guide her through the woodland. It feels like an armour which sits upon her and also within her, coming to no harm now she has cracked the code, found that one singular digit that was missing which has kept her from Jo. Yaz understands that the blows she had sustained from the other woman’s weaponised words were instead feints, fake hits meant to detract and to undermine. They have left no scarring mark. And Yaz feels strong in herself: in her conviction, strong in her worry, which carries her further into the woodland, and strong, especially, in her love. For she realises that love might be the one thing which finally gets through to Jo: from the beginning Yaz’s love has been the thing which has carried her closer to the other woman, has made looking out for her and after her as natural as breathing. She had wondered, earlier, if she should blame herself for not connecting the dots because she had been too emotionally involved; now she realises that emotional involvement might be the thing which instead connects other dots in the constellation of her and Jo.

Two joined together by an invisible line.

Yaz is not so breakable, and neither is that line.

She falters in her step only slightly as they finally dip into the dell and find it deserted.

“Damn it. Where is she?” Amy mutters and strides into the space, looking around her, up and down and left to right. Donna and Sid stroll with more care, taking in the space as if it were a crime scene. Yaz finds herself watching the river which cuts through the woodland like a vein as she desperately tries to think _where_ from here Jo could have gone. There is the path downstream, which leads towards the beach, or the one upstream, which leads towards fields and coastal cliffs beyond. Which one could she have taken? 

It is the strangest thing, then, as Yaz looks between downstream and upstream and the river below runs through her mind, as if there is a presence by her side, something brushing her shoulder, and carried on the wind a whisper speaks to her, or so it seems.

_Upstream. She has gone upstream._

Yaz knows instinctively to trust it.

“Upstream.” She says, and the others raise their heads to look her way. “I think she’s gone upstream.”

“You sure about that?” Donna asks her, and Yaz nods, a firm movement of her head.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then.” Amy says, fidgeting with anxiety. She pulls out her phone and checks it, slipping it back into her pocket with an aggrieved sigh. Nothing yet, then.

Yaz is sure they are on the right trail.

She leads their small party across the river and up the steadily rising bank. They are all panting by the end, poor Sid red in the face, and when they break through the trees and into the evening light Yaz takes in a deep breath, pulling her shoulders back, looking across the field they have emerged into to a small stile leading to another field.

“That way.”

“I didn’t even know this was here.” Amy says as they stride across the field. Yaz manages to keep up with her long-legged strides, moving swiftly, barely registering the movement of her feet across the ground. “Not sure whether Grace or Graham do either. They were checking the coastal path on the other side of the village.”

“I know she’s here, I can just feel it, like instinct.” Yaz says, and if Amy gives her an odd look out of the corner of her eye, she ignores it, eyes ahead as they surmount the stile and head into another field.

They are ascending a small incline which peaks on the horizon, and they stride towards it, Yaz deaf to the aching of her leg muscles and the slight strain of her ribs as she powers on relentlessly, arms swinging by her sides. All she can hear is her breathing in her own ears, the steady yet fast rise and fall of her lungs, and when they finally reach the precipice, and they are looking out over the ocean, with craggy rockface cutting into the pearlescent blue with savage adversary, her breathing stops and blood rushes into her ears to fill the silence.

For there is a figure on that rocky cliff top, stood only a few feet from the edge, and far too close for comfort.

Jo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do feel very bad about this cliffhanger. I considered posting it all as one but it came to over 10k. So, I am going to post the next chapter a day early, on Wednesday. So... I will see you then. We've learnt some of the truth, but there's still more for Jo to reveal...
> 
> I am aware we are touching some very heavy themes, and I would like to reassure you I have tried my utmost to handle them with the sufficient care and respect. I worried I would be trivialising some by making a cliffhanger out of this moment, really it came down to the word count and the best place to cut it, and if it feels that way to anyone, or if anyone has any questions, then please do not hesitate to hmu on:
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	30. Give Up the Ghost (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... here we go. If you could please read the note at the end of this chapter I would really appreciate that thank you 😊 I am also aware that this is a very heavy chapter which deals with a lot of things as per the tags and the TW, Jo is rather upset in this one, so if you are worried and would prefer a summary please feel free to leave a comment or contact me on Tumblr (walker-lister) or Twitter (@walkerlister1)  
> TW: suicidal thoughts, discussions of mental health
> 
> Edit: this is a repost

_For there is a figure on that rocky cliff top, stood only a few feet from the edge, and far too close for comfort._

_Jo._

“Shit.” Amy mutters under her breath, and instinctively Yaz grabs for her arm to stop her from rushing forward or calling out the other woman’s name.

This could not be what it looks like. The situation has shifted and altered and although Yaz’s heart begins to hammer like a hummingbird in her chest, keeping as calm as she would have been had the conversation she is just about to have not taken place on a clifftop, with the implications that now adds to this, is vital. Her love will guide her through this, and her police training has already ensured she has made arrangements to deal with this. Yaz feels more grounded than ever, sure in herself, her worry being channelled into determination, and she realises then that she is made of multitudes, of so many pieces put together to form Yasmin Khan.

She is not only a hopeless and hopeful lover; she is not only a police officer doing her best to make her mark and make her job count by helping people; she is not only the woman grown from the child who faced adversity on the playground and in the classroom, beaten and bruised and determined to rise above when she had sunk too deep. She is grown from these things, nurtured from them coalescing and raising their faces towards the sunlight, towards the realisation that she is multitudinous. These are not weaknesses, not burdens Yaz carries with her which mark every step she has made in life- no, these are the things which have made her stronger, complex. Human.

She is Yasmin Khan.

And she is enough.

It is strange to have a sudden revelation at a wholly misplaced time, with Jo on a cliff edge describing herself as ‘grounded’ feels odd, but the revelation has perhaps come at the right time; the universe is never so easily understood. For perhaps now she can draw Jo back from the edge and show her that her wounds, the burdens she bears do not have to be the things that drag her down, but can instead be the things that raise her up, the foundations which make her journey forwards stronger.

Yaz hopes there is a place for her in that journey. A place for her in the heart she calls home.

She turns to Donna and Sid, who are watching the woman on the cliff-edge cautiously. Jo has not moved; she seems to be simply staring out across the ocean with an unnerving stillness. “You hang back. I want to talk to her. I can see what’s going on, and we can go from there. I’ll signal if we need any intervention.”

Donna and Sid nod, Donna’s eyes travelling over Yaz with an impressed gleam in her eyes. Yaz turns to Amy, whose face is pale and whose eyes keep travelling towards her best friend, but when she feels Yaz’s gaze on her she forces her eyes to her. Yaz can see her fighting her panic, but her battle for calm and collect is impressive. “Amy, can you hang back with Donna? I know you might want to talk to her, but I think it might be best if I-”

“No. Go, Yaz. I’ll stay behind.” Amy says, pushing away her excuses. She trusts Yaz. Yaz is a trustworthy person. She knows that now. She _believes_ in that now.

She gives Amy a firm squeeze on her arm before she lets go, turning and straightening her back, raising her head. In at the deep end.

Luckily Yaz is a strong swimmer.

The other three walk with her for a little while but hang back when Yaz is within twenty feet of Jo, and stepping forwards without them does not feel scary, not when all she can see are the tense shoulders and the slumped posture of the woman she loves.

It is only Jo.

No time to plan words, no need to do so, Yaz finds it very easy to slip into the calm and at ease manner which is always best when approaching these situations. Fear prickles on the back of her neck, digging its claws into the bottom of her skull, but is an undercurrent.

Yaz clears her throat.

Jo jumps, and she swings around to look at Yaz, feet stumbling slightly. Yaz tries not to watch how that brings her a little closer to the cliff edge. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry, wide and surprised. Her face is pale and haggard and with the sun behind her, just on the precipice of its daily descent, she looks like a shadow of her normal self. It is still good to see her face, unguarded and open as it is. Jo looks like she has nothing else to lose.

“Hey.” Yaz greets.

“ _Yaz?!”_ Jo splutters, voice hoarse. Her hands hang limp by her sides. “What are you- how did you find me?”

“We’re all worried about you.” Yaz explains easily. “You disappeared without a trace. Not answering messages. Amy said you were upset.”

“I-” Jo blinks, and then she frowns, shaking her head a little as if to see Yaz a little better. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes are confused and wide but, they are not tinged by any alcoholic din; Jo is sober.

“Like I said, we were worried.” Yaz repeats, and she gives Jo a small smile. “I was worried.”

Jo cannot seem to comprehend her words, mouth hanging open as she blinks furiously. “But, but I-I said all those things, I-”

“You tried to push me away. I know.” Yaz says patiently. “I know you didn’t mean them.”

“No, no it-!” Jo insists, hands flying upwards as she gestures wildly between herself and Yaz. She takes a small step backwards and Yaz tenses on the spot. “It is! You need to get away from me, Yaz!”

“Alright.” Yaz says, raising her arms calmly and taking a step backwards, appeasing to Jo’s needs. “But I was really worried about you, when you started saying those things. _Why_ you were saying them.” She longs to tag an affectionate epithet onto the end of her sentence, but she is concerned about saying anything which might overtly sway Jo towards one way of thinking.

“It’s because I-” Jo spits, but it is less vitriolic and more desperate than she might have intended, and Yaz is sure her sudden appearance has taken the woman by surprise at such a vulnerable moment to the extent where that mask she had found necessary cannot be mustered. “ _How_ can you be here? She said you would be gone! She said I had done enough to scare you away from me!”

Confusion seeps into Yaz’s calm tone. “Who?”

Jo looks behind her shoulder, out across the ocean, and Yaz follows her gaze but finds nothing but the sunset. She turns back, mouth gaping before her lip curls and she winces as if in physical pain as her eyes flit rapidly back and forth. “You shouldn’t be here, Yaz, you should turn back and run away as far away from me as possible.”

“What makes you say that?” Yaz asks, hoping to draw the truth from her with her even gaze, her refusal to be angry or upset with the other woman. To not act like one would had Jo spoken those horrible words to them.

“I’m not a good- I’m no good. I’m not a good person.” Jo blurts out in explanation, stabbing at her chest with a finger. She is wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a deep blue colour which almost blends with the water behind her, and the sleeves are rolled up so that her scars catch the light of the setting sun.

“I don’t agree with you on that one.” Yaz says. “I think you’re a very good person. You were trying to protect me, I think, in your own way.”

Jo watches her unblinking, her head turning slightly to the side as if perking up to something. She winces once more. “No, no, that’s not right. You shouldn’t be saying that!”

“Why not?” Yaz asks. She is trying not to jump the gun, to come to the reasoning before Jo does by the grace of what Amy has revealed; she does not want the other woman to feel exposed, caught out.

“Because it’s not _true!_ I’m not a good person! I’m not, I’m a-”

“A what?” Yaz asks.

“A murderer.” Jo whispers, dragging her hands through her hair. Her eyes gaze unseeingly just past Yaz’s shoulder. She flinches. “I killed her. I killed River.”

Yaz’s stomach flips, but she flexes her fingers against sweaty palms and speak the words which come naturally to her tongue. Time to admit to her own secrets. “I saw the newspaper clipping in your flat, Jo. You weren’t the one to kill River, it was the drunk driver.”

Jo looks to her with wide eyes. If she is angry, Yaz cannot tell. “Then you know.”

“I know that a drunken driver ran a red light.” Yaz replies. “And I know that an inquest found him wholly guilty. There is no need to blame yourself, Jo.”

“No, there is, there is!” Jo states, pointing her finger at the ground. She is getting more and more distressed, and Yaz jolts slightly on the spot but schools herself into a calm composure.

“Alright. Why do you think that?” Yaz asks.

“Why are you being like this?” Jo asks her, face scrunching in confusion. “Why aren’t you running for the hills? I’ve hurt you, I… another car crash, it’s almost like the universe is trying to tell me something.”

“What do you think it is trying to tell you?” Yaz asks. She longs to let Jo into her mind, wishes one of them possessed telepathic abilities so that she might be able to show the other woman how none of this follows the line of thought she is trapped in, but Yaz knows that to belittle Jo’s thought process and shoot it down without giving her a chance to explain it before gently deconstructing it with caring hands would be the wrong course of action.

“That there’s a reason people never stay. I’m not good to be around. I- people leave because the universe judges me differently. That’s- that’s what it is, nothing else, I’m just dangerous to know and to love. I should have stayed alone.” She nods her head as if trying to convince herself of this truth, taking ragged breaths in and out. She looks at Yaz, chest rising and falling, face caught in a spectacle of agony. “And you, Yaz, you don’t deserve me. And _I_ don’t deserve _you_. You deserve better. And I deserve nothing at all.”

“I don’t think that.” Yaz replies, calm tone not giving away how her love-laden heart bleeds heavy for its possessor. “No one is ever meant to be lonely. And you’re not dangerous to me, Jo. You’ve given me a lot.” Yaz says, stemming the bleeding of her heart into a tincture of affection which tints her words with a rosy hue. “You’ve given me your time, and your friendship, and your affection, and you’ve given me the ability to see that I am enough. That doesn’t sound like the actions of a bad person.”

“No, no, I-” Jo begins to protest, but the hand that raises to protest Yaz is shaky, unsure of itself, as is her tone.

“I think you find it easy to get lost in your guilt and the self-doubt that brings, but I’m saying that you are so much more than those things. I’ve realised that I’m made of the multitudes. Not just of how the universe shapes me, but of how I am shaped by others, and by myself. It’s okay to be afraid of feeling something other than guilt, or grief. I would never tell you that your feelings are not valid, that you don’t have a right to feel those emotions, but… Don’t let them rule you. You’ve grown beyond all you’ve been before, and whilst those things have shaped you, and the people and experiences will stay with you, you are not limited by those. Not if you don’t want to be. And I don’t think that you do want to be.”

Yaz almost does not recognise her own voice, words filled with a poetry she has never heard herself speak before. She realises that it is the language of love, another of Yaz’s multitudes opening like a flower bud, nurtured by her growth.

Jo’s eyes are hooded, and she looks at Yaz with new clarity, and speaks with a new honesty. An honesty not born of guilt, but of a hint of someone desperate to find relief from one direction. “Sometimes I don’t know who I am.”

“That’s okay. Neither do I. Although I’ve come to understand myself much better with you.” Yaz says with a smile. “How did you feel when you were with me?”

She knows, she thinks: Jo has made many a dedication and vindication of her feelings for Yaz, but that has been held hostage in recent days to something with weapons which act quicker, but perhaps are not as long-lasting as what she feels for Yaz. Hopefully.

“Like I’d never felt before. Like it was so natural to know you. As natural as breathing.” Jo says wistfully, but then she winces once more, head twisting in a strange manner. “But now it hurts to breathe. I told you Yaz, I feel like I don’t know who I am, who I’ve become. There’s too many thoughts in my head and I-” She breaks off, doubling over and clutching at the sides of her head. Yaz has to hold herself back from stepping forward and taking pale hands in her own. She goes on the rational offensive, speaking as calmly as the water which bobs below them.

“Jo, do you think it will help if we think this through? You like facts, right? So, let’s think in fact, yeah?” She tries, and Jo’s head raises at that, although it remains clutched in her hands. “You’ve let me help you so many times before, will you let me help you now?”

For the first time in over a week, Jo nods her head and lets Yaz help her. It is not a victory, but it is a step in the right direction. 

“Okay.” Yaz begins, and she puts her hands out in front of her as she talks. “The guilt you feel for River’s death has built upon other feelings of self-doubt you had before and convinced you that you caused her death and therefore deserve to be alone?”

“Yes.” Jo whispers, hands dropping to hang limply at her sides.

“As a result, you became scared over your feelings for me. And after the car crash, you worried you had hurt me, and that built until you were convinced that, because of what had happened before, you would continue to hurt me and therefore it was better to be alone, that you deserved to be alone?”

It is a saddening trail of statements, and Yaz moves quickly to begin the rationalising train of thought after Jo gives her a defeated nod. Here she can finally help, she hopes with all her being.

“You’ve got the clipping of the newspaper report in your bedroom. It says the accident was wholly the drunk driver’s fault.” Yaz says, counting this statement as the first on her fingers. “Has anyone else blamed you for River’s death?” Yaz has no clue whether River had any family, but by how close they all were, she supposes Amy and Rory might count as that family, and Yaz knows they do not blame Jo. Amy is stood behind her on tenterhooks, after all. She does not think Jo has noticed her.

“No.” Jo says, voice hoarse with tears which tickle the back of her throat, at her red-rimmed eyes. “But there must have been something I could have done, I-”

“It sounds like you were following road practice, but the drunk driver was not. Perhaps the car crash and River’s death were a terrible accident? And perhaps your having lost the first stable person in your life made that feeling of being alone turn into a belief that you deserved to be alone, that you were guilty of killing her because you survived and she did not?”

Yaz does not intend to diagnose, and sincerely hopes that if she can get Jo to open up now, a professional might be able to help her properly in the future. Just so long as Yaz can get her away from the cliff’s edge…

Jo says nothing, but Yaz can see her shoulders have dropped just slightly. She still looks spooked, still not wholly convinced, but she is listening. Yaz goes on.

“Now, without sounding arrogant, I’m pretty sure you like me, Jo.” Yaz says with a small smile. “A lot. We’ve done a lot for each other, and a lot of the things we’ve done have been things you wouldn’t do unless you really, _really,_ liked that person.”

Jo smiles sadly at Yaz’s reference to the beginning of their closer connection, of their kiss upon a beach at sunset. It encourages Yaz.

“But those thoughts and feelings you’d held before made you scared of us. Scared of hurting me. Now, the only way you’ve hurt me is by trying to push me away. I understand, and I’m not angry. I can’t say it didn’t sting but I realise those words weren’t meant.”

Jo’s gaze flits from Yaz to her feet, head titling a little, as if she has water in her ear, looking ashamed. She neither confirms nor denies nor explains her behaviour, and Yaz feels a cool relief flow through her like spring water to see hide nor hair of that terrible mask Jo had worn before; Yaz sees the door is ajar, and she is being let in.

“I know, it’s alright.” Yaz assures her. “We all make mistakes, Jo, by trying our best. And sometimes we _mistake_ these mistakes for markers of our character. I let the guilt and sense of failure over the case I told you about eat away at me until I barely believed in my own abilities when really, I had tried my best, but I thought I was failing at the thing I loved. You were trying your best to protect me because you thought it necessary. I’m really glad you’re letting me in now, I know it’s because you felt guilty, and convinced you would hurt me like you had hurt River, after our car crash. Which is why you pushed me away, isn’t it?”

Jo gives her a sullen nod, running a hand over her face. She looks exhausted. Yaz wonders when she last slept.

“I am absolutely fine after that car crash. My ribs were already hurting, and I had a little bruising, but I’m fine. You haven’t hurt me.” Yaz reassures her, and Jo looks her up and down, looks at the sincerity in Yaz’s eyes, and after a moment seems appeased by what she sees. “It was another accident. Nothing malicious to it. You were just doing your best to help us out.”

“I wanted to prove I could do it, I thought I could be stronger than who I was before, but….” Jo shakes her head hopelessly. Yaz remembers the conversation she had overheard between Jo and Amy the evening of the crash: _I was trying to prove I could, that I could be better._

Jo has been fighting it. She just needs some more backup this time.

“So, if you really are the person who deserves to be alone because she hurts those that she lets come near her, then by those standards I should not care for you. Should not even be here saying all of this. Should be hurt and long gone from here.” Yaz says, and she can feel herself coming to a conclusion. “I’ve just told you how the drunk driver was to blame, how I don’t think you are. You’re not dangerous to me, you’re everything to me.”

Words of love grow and blossom like sunflowers, guided by the sun’s beams and shaped by its namesake, but they burn with their own colour which is shot through with passion, flourishing only as they can for Yaz and Jo. Yaz keeps her words vague, poetic, like a light breeze carrying the scent of the sunflowers; she worries that anything concrete, which might disturb the nature of their connection, would cut off the flowers before they might grow to their full beauty. She still does not know exactly _why_ this conversation is taking place on a cliff-edge, and a calm love plucked upon the strings of a harp is better suited to that hammered by fingers on a piano when Yaz’s words and her appeal are still so tentative.

She just hopes they are enough.

Jo runs her hands through her hair, rubbing at her forehead with the heels of her hands. “I can’t- I can’t just suddenly change my mind, it’s still-”

“It’s okay, I’m not asking you to.” Yaz says, noticing the distress marring the other woman’s features, a distress born from having listened to something which has rocked the conviction she held before, a distress at doubting that conviction, having heard Yaz’s words. Yaz knows she is not going to erase years’ worth of self-perception, knows that this is, hopefully at least, the start of an uphill battle. “I’m just saying that when you look at it like that, can’t you see how hard you’re being on yourself? I’m not telling you how to feel, I’m just saying that you can feel guilt at being alive when she is not, but you are _not_ guilty of her death. Don’t let that consume you. I know you can do that.”

Jo looks at Yaz, _properly_ looks at her, blinking tear bejewelled eyes.

“You saw what was in my room?” Jo asks with a sniff after a while, hands twisting together in front of her body.

“I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy, I-” Yaz begins to apologise but Jo cuts her off.

“And you don’t blame me for it? For any of it?”

“No, Jo.” Yaz asserts one more time. “Of course not.”

Jo nods and lets out a shaky breath, sounding so vulnerable as she says, “So, you’re not going to go?”

“No, no, I won’t leave you.” Yaz says, and she takes a step forward, confident she has managed to break through _something,_ and is relieved when Jo does not back away from her; does not seem to be backing away from her feelings for Yaz. They have not deserted her, as Yaz feared in her lowest moments outside a dingy club in a dingy street and Yaz takes another step forward, daringly, when she spots Jo looking to her hand, as if she wants to hold it but does not know how to ask. Yaz holds it out for the offering, and after a pause Jo takes it within her own hand, fingers cold and trembling slightly. “Even if we’re apart, I’ll never leave you. You know that, right?” Yaz had made promises like this before she knew the truth that has been uncovered this day, and she is making sure Jo knows nothing has changed about her feelings.

“Even after all this?”

“Even after all this.” Yaz confirms, and she tentatively raises her free hand to Jo’s cheek, cupping it in her palm. Jo leans in ever so slightly. She clenches her eyes shut again.

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you. I thought I’d be holding you back. You’ve got so much going for you, Yaz…”

Yaz suddenly remembers a conversation she had overheard on a starry night in Penzance between Jo and the kind old man who had offered his friendship and his hospitality. Jo had said to Wilf that Yaz was ‘too good for me’, and Yaz had thought it was expressed along the same vein as Jo’s genuine awe for Yaz, which made her shake her head and look at Yaz like she was something impossible. Only now she realises that all their talk of Yaz’s future, Wilf’s encouragement and the promotion offered by her boss, had been fuel to the fire of this self-doubt which has been consuming Jo. Yaz will put that matter to bed _immediately._

“You could _never_ hold me back. All you’ve given me… you’re what I was missing before.” Yaz says, using her touch to guide Jo’s to look into her own, to see the sincerity which burns there like a warm hearth on a winter’s evening. “You matter to me just as much as anything else.”

Yaz can see the flickers of the same fire which burns in her eyes in Jo’s, dancing there behind all her pain, slowly melting it away, she hopes. It saddens Yaz, as she holds this woman’s hand in hers and cups her cheek like something precious, that they have had to go through all this, but she thinks that it might have made them stronger, both together and as individuals. “Don’t feel like you have to hide from me. I don’t want you to. I want the privilege of knowing you, because I care for you, _so much._ Show me your pain, and your struggles, and I will show you mine, and we can bear the weight of them together. Will you give that to me?”

Yaz knows there will be times when the confidence which sits in her core like a soothing balm will be eradicated by doubt and worry and anxiety, but facing it with Jo, demonstrating to Jo that this is co-beneficial relationship, that they can both calm and support each other, makes the thought easier to brace for. She is here for Jo, she is here for herself, she is here for the both of them.

Yaz keeps the word ‘love’ back for now; this is not the moment for big declarations, and her words and actions are in themselves spelling out that word just as effectively as speaking it could.

Jo is breathing heavily, hot breaths brushing against the skin of Yaz’s hand. The moment is so fragile, delicate like a pile of cards, and the final card being added could either topple the tower or raise it higher. She trusts in Jo, knows she can do this, but the other woman’s trust and belief in herself still remains tentative…

“I...” Jo says, eyes drifting away from Yaz’s. “I just want to….”

“Just want what, Jo?” Yaz asks her, squeezing her hand. Jo’s eyes widen and focus on something, Yaz cannot see what and she wonders whether it is another one of their small rescue team, but dread crawls from her stomach to her chest at the scared expression on Jo’s face, like she has seen a ghost.

“No. No, no, no.” She mutters, putting her head down onto Yaz’s shoulder, causing Yaz to move her hand from her cheek to her back. “I can’t. _I can’t.”_

“Jo, talk to me.” Yaz says firmly but no unkindly.

“I can’t! Stop!” Jo pleads, and Yaz’s heart begins to thunder in her chest, railing against her composure. Jo suddenly pushes herself away from Yaz, stumbling backwards slightly and Yaz’s whole body lurches forward as Jo teases the cliff edge with her steps, but the other woman stops and crouches over, hands over her ears, and Yaz forces herself to freeze, hand outstretched to Jo. She does not know what this is, what has dragged Jo away from her, but it leaves a bitter tase in the back of her mouth.

“Yaz?” Yaz hears Amy call to her, hears feet pounding against the earth, and she throws an arm out behind her to halt Amy’s movement, commanding her to stay back. She listens, and the footsteps stop.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Jo cries, still bent over. “I can’t anymore! There’s too much!”

“Jo, come on, let me know what’s happening.” Yaz says, trying to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.

“How can I be happy? How can I move on when she’s dead?” Jo asks her desperately, hands splayed in front of her, empty, all out of answers. She cries out at empty air just to the right of Yaz. “How can I forgive myself when you’re dead and I’m alive? How can I move on from you when I was the one that killed you?”

Yaz’s eyes roll sideways, and she sees nothing but grass and sky illuminated by a setting sun glowing a golden orange. Suspicion creeps in like a spider, wrapping its spindly legs around her brain. She turns back to Jo to try and ground her and pull her gaze back to Yaz.

“Jo, remember what I said? River’s death was not your fault.” Yaz asserts.

“She says it is.” Jo whispers, still staring at air. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Jo, who says it is?” Yaz asks, that spider stretching its legs down her spine now, tickling her with trepidation.

“River.” Jo replies, and the spider bites.

Grief is confusing and conflicting. It does not sew itself into one’s mind and body along the same lines as rationality, and if humans were supposed to live only along rational threads, grief would not be possible, but it is, and Yaz has heard of scenarios in which a grieving soul cannot stop seeing the image of the one who has departed, conjuring them up in a mind ravaged by emotion. This is far beyond anything Yaz has dealt with before, and she sucks in a deep breath, shocked. She lets it leave her low and long, holding onto her composure; she has been using emotion and feeling to thread a tapestry of persuasion and reassurance so far, braiding rationality into that thread, so she sticks to her guns, knowing there is not backing down now, and knowing she never would. 

“What’s River telling you, Jo?” She asks, feeling Amy’s gaze on her back, her surely shocked expression.

“She’s saying it’s my fault. I killed her.” Jo says, and her face creases with upset, tears in her eyes. “She doesn’t want me to listen to you. She doesn’t want me to go with you.”

The spider’s poison is flowing through Yaz’s veins, making her shake with terror.

“Jo…” Yaz says carefully, the question she is posing like daggers on her tongue, ready to stick themselves into her heart with their implication. “Why are we up here on the cliff?”

“She wants me to follow her. She misses me.” Jo explains, voice faraway, eyes too as she gazes at someone that only she can see. “I miss her, but I don’t…” She trails off as her eyes follow the invisible figure, forcing her to turn to face the sea, the sunset, the glare of the sun now burning so intense it colours them all in rusted amber. Yaz moves forward instinctively as Jo turns, holding a hand out, just in case. She wouldn’t, would she? She had just been about to say something before her attention was caught. She does not actually want to…

Yaz swallows the poison which sticks in the bile in her throat. “Jo, remember everything I’ve said. Remember it’s not your fault.” She steps into the space where she guesses ‘River’ stands, putting herself forcibly in the way, trying to ground Jo to reality. “That’s not River, Jo. I think you’re just a bit confused.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what to do!” Jo says, her eyes staring out at the sunset, tears dripping down her cheeks like amber pearls in the gleaming glow. She takes a step forward and Yaz’s heart near bursts with adrenaline, and she hears Amy call out behind her. She flies forward herself and places herself between Jo and the cliff edge. A risky move, and Yaz feels a wave of vertigo wash over her when she catches sight of the rocky cliffs and swirling waves down below, she only a few feet away from falling into their grasp. She steadies herself, and tries to catch Jo’s eyes, feeling the pressure of the sun on her neck.

“Jo, listen to me. That’s not River.” Yaz says firmly, but Jo is now looking to the space just to Yaz’s left, where ‘River’ must lurk.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t, please…” She pleads with the air. with herself. “Why are you saying this? Why is she saying this to me?” Jo throws her last question Yaz’s way with desperation, and Yaz takes it as a good sign that she is looking to her for advice, for answers.

“It’s because that’s not River, that’s not your wife.” Yaz says firmly. “Do you think she would want you to be unhappy? Do you think she’d be selfish like that! You didn’t kill her, this isn’t vengeance, Jo.”

“But she seems so _real._ ” Jo says, and her words catch in the back of her throat in a sob. “I miss her.”

“I know, it’s okay, of _course_ you miss her.” Yaz says. “That’s why it’s so tempting to engage with her, yes? Because it looks like her?”

Jo nods forlornly, blinking at the space in front of her, looking at it desperately. “She’s my wife…” She murmurs brokenly.

“But that’s not her, Jo.” Yaz says. “I’m sorry, but it’s not. It’s just your grief stirring up that guilt in your mind and transforming it into her. Everything she’s saying to you, it’s the grief talking. It’s what’s making you blame yourself, it’s what is holding you back, but you can move on and still miss her, Jo. Miss the River you knew, because this is just a mirage.”

Jo still looks to ‘River’, but she looks unsure of what she sees, and Yaz stays true to her resolve, her own emotions at seeing Jo like this beginning to creep into her tone as the situation gets to the precipice, as there is no turning back. She ever so carefully reaches out and takes Jo’s hand in her own, curling her fingers around the other’s woman’s. “Feel this? This is real.” With her other hand, Yaz presses her hand to Jo’s chest, over her heart, echoing a move she had made so many weeks ago, when the gift of her support was offered in the throes of uncertainty about Jo’s feelings, when they were creeping closer. Now, Yaz offers it because she has come to know this woman and love her like no other, and she does it with no selfish motive, only love. A love which burns just as fierce as the sunset. “And feel this? This pain in your heart for River but also that hope for yourself, that courage that you can be happy? They can co-exist in _here._ But that out there which you think you can see, that’s not real. That can’t hurt you if you don’t want it to. Don’t let it take her face and destroy your memories of her, for she is safe in _here,”_ Yaz presses once more at Jo’s chest before moving her hand up to Jo’s forehead and lightly placing her fingertips against the skin there. “And in _here._ She is still with you, within you. You need to let that River go. Let her go and that’s the first step of letting go of your guilt.”

Jo’s eyes have followed the movement of Yaz’s hand, and now, they move back to ‘River’, but she blinks and with fresh tears flowing from her eyes she says, “You’re not real.”

Yaz’s watches her carefully as she licks her cracked lips, sniffs and says, bolder this time. “I didn’t… I didn’t kill you. I didn’t kill _her._ ”

“No, Jo.” Yaz prompts, words light and carried on the breeze which blows on the clifftop. “You did not.”

Jo lets out a sob. “I didn’t kill her.” She repeats. She turns to the air with a ferocious expression of realisation, “I didn’t kill you! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t kill you…”

She repeats the phrase until her throat is hoarse and she can no longer talk, until her eyes blink and look away from the air, then look back again, exhaustion settling on her face as she lets out a long breath, eyes fluttering closed. Her face is lined in grief and relief and her hairs glimmers like gold in the sunset, its glow absorbed into her to her very roots. River runs through her in her veins like gold, precious and irreplaceable, and, Yaz sincerely hopes in the face of this revelation, no longer manipulated by harsher feelings which have bruised and cut them both.

“It’s gone.” Jo says, and Yaz thinks that finally that guilt is ebbing away on an evening tide, departing with the sunset. “She’s gone.”

Jo lets out a sob, and turns to Yaz, her whole body trembling. “Yaz…” She mutters.

“It’s okay.” Yaz says, and Jo allows her to pull her away from the cliff edge, to a few feet away, where she sinks to her knees, Yaz following her and pulling her into her arms, holding her gently as she sobs and sobs in waves of grief which are leaving the shore. “It’s okay…”

Yaz rests her chin on the top of Jo’s head, saltwater dampening the skin of her neck, but she could not care less. She hears footsteps come closer and glances up to see Amy, eyes wide and spooked and face pale, watching them, torn with emotion. Donna and Sid remain a respectful distance away, Donna speaking something into her radio, probably calling the search off. Jo has been found, and not only that, has been saved and has saved herself from a crippling guilt which had almost washed her out to sea but which now, in its turn, is caught on a current which pushes it away from her, carrying it far away where it cannot hurt her, not now. As Yaz watches the sunset, as the sun sinks below the horizon and marries with the ocean, she keeps a hold of the woman in her arms, satisfied she will not sink with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you've seen ALS, and I suppose 'It Takes You Away' has elements of this... you can see where the inspiration came from.
> 
> I think as a writer I have a tendency to put my voice through into the characters, and in particular with this chapter handling such heavy content I think it is probably more recognisable than anywhere else. However, I wanted to give this the attention and the care it deserved and hopefully it does not seem too misplaced within the narrative as to how Yaz helps Jo: Yaz herself having come to terms with the facts of her life and what she can and cannot change, plus as a police officer dedicated to the helping people and with certain aspects of her job she would have knowledge of how to manage such situations. I tried definitely to not step over the line to overtly dramatizing this situation so as to become melodrama, and I used my own knowledge of dealing with mental health and with loss and applying them to Yaz, but having said that this is only from my own experiences, I am not a professional, so if there is anything that bothers you please don’t hesitate to contact me. I hope Yaz does not seem too overtly good at helping- I just did not want to get this outlandishly wrong- it might not be right, but I have tried my best to be respectful. 😊
> 
> Thank you so much for reading ❤


	31. To Love and To Know (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive and kind responses i recieved on the last chapter- I was so nervous so to have all your support means so much to me and I cannot thank you enough. Sorry for what happened with posting- AO3 just had to do me like that- so I think there might have been a problems with leaving some comments, but I recieved so many so hopefully it wasn't too impactful! Basically, the response was incredible, and I thank you all ❤
> 
> Right, comfort is here! 
> 
> TW: discussions of mental health (specifically want to warn there is a short discussion about Jo's visions) in the first scene

It starts raining as the bus trundles up the path towards Yaz’s cottage, raindrops appearing seemingly out of nowhere on the windscreen as the darkness around them becomes all encompassing, the sun having long dipped beyond the horizon. The ragged pattern of their falling matches the ragged breathing of the woman Yaz holds in her arms, and Yaz tightens her grip, pulling Jo closer; she had not complained about the bus, and it truly had been the best way for them to get back to the cottage from the coastal path, Jo is stiff and numb and all together too exhausted to walk the whole way back, but Yaz knows it must be an additional blow to already grated nerves, and the sooner they are inside the safety of Yaz’s cottage, four walls protecting from this storm outside, the better.

At least Yaz is with Jo this time, facing the storm with her.

Martha is waiting for them when they reach the cottage, reached by the grapevine of people involved in the search once Amy had notified them that Jo had been found. As soon as Bill has pulled open the front door, face marred with confusion that Yaz ignores for now, she will explain it all later, Martha gestures for them to go upstairs, and Yaz leads Jo slowly behind the doctor at a slow trail up the stairs, to privacy, Amy reluctantly left behind, Donna and Sid stood slightly awkwardly in the hallway. There will need to be statements taken and all sorts of procedures that make Yaz sigh at this moment in time, but Jo is her first priority.

Yaz offers to leave out of automatic politeness, but Jo vehemently protests and Yaz stays. She stays as Martha gently checks Jo over physically, diagnosing exhaustion and slight dehydration, and then… Martha’s speciality is not mental health, and she tells them this, but she asks Jo some questions touching on sunsets and visions and clifftops, and Yaz feels something heavy drop from her chest to her stomach which stings of sorrow, but not of pity, because she would never pity Jo, but it sits close with a sympathy so strong it aches, as Jo reveals moments when glimpses of River would pass her by, moments when Yaz had clocked _something_ was off, but hadn’t thought…. Zennor and St Ives were the worst, she states, with small glimpses in between, like something in the corner of your eye, and then…. The car crash. She had swerved because there was something on the road. Some _one._ And then it had been…. More persistent.

“Jo,” Martha says, hands clasped together as she perches on the edge of the armchair, Jo and Yaz slumped on the end of the bed, “When Yaz saved you that time, when you jumped from the rocks out on the beach, did you…”

“Yes.” Jo answers to an unfinished question, eyes on the floor, and Yaz is glad of that because it takes monumental effort for her to keep the shock off of her face. It had seemed odd, but it got pushed away as a silly accident and she would never have thought…

Yaz has never believed in ghosts, but Jo has been haunted by a hunting kind of apparition, and Yaz wonders whether she might have dared to believe… but none of them had seen this coming. Well, Yaz is here now. The storm is outside, and she is with Jo inside, hand in hers. A physical touch a manifestation of guilt would never be able to accomplish.

“I never wanted to…” Jo says, hands twisting in her lap. “I don’t _think_ I wanted to. I just… felt like I needed to. It’s all…. Confusing.” She finishes with a ragged breath, hand coming up to gesticulate at the side of her head, hand rolling in the wrist joint.

Martha takes all Jo says with a considerate and understanding air, and she goes to leave with a promise of further help, and Jo shudders with anxiety until Martha gives her a light sedative, and then Yaz is guiding them both back to lie on the bed, kicking off shoes and she makes the conscious decision to pull Jo’s sleeves down so that the scars on her arm are covered. They lie on top of the covers, breathing slowly in the same air as the rain outside lashes against the windows. Yaz only rises briefly to close the curtains and put another barrier between themselves and the storm before they are curled together, Yaz’s hand running through Jo’s hair. The blonde locks are unwashed and lank, and yet to feel the fine quality of them against her fingertips is as soothing to Yaz as it is to Jo. Jo’s head burrows into the crook of Yaz’s neck, and Yaz feels the tip of her nose against her pulse point.

“I’m so sorry Yaz.” She whispers, words carried on a wave of exhaustion and drug induced slurred articulation.

“You don’t need to apologise.” Yaz murmurs back, lips on the crown of Jo’s head.

“I want to.” Jo mumbles, eyelashes fluttering against Yaz’s skin.

“Okay.” Yaz accepts.

“I missed you so much.” Jo mutters, caught on the very edge of sleep.

“I missed you, too.” Yaz replies, and means it. She had missed Jo more than she could possibly explain with words. And so, she takes the woman she loves’ prerogative and instead expresses it through the tightening of her hold, the pressing of a long kiss to Jo’s forehead as the other woman slips into sleep. Yaz hopes it will, finally, be peaceful.

She does not know how long she lies there, thoughts quietly processing everything that has happened, thinking probably a small bit of shock is numbing her from any heavy emotion, all she can feel is overwhelming relief in all honesty, when there is a small knock on her bedroom door and Amy’s head pokes around it. Yaz gestures for her to come in, sitting herself up and gently guiding Jo’s head onto her thigh, nose brushing her hip. The other woman shuffles for a moment before she falls back into calm sleep.

“Hey.” Amy says, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Hey.” Yaz whispers back, hand beginning to stroke Jo’s hair.

“How’s she been?” Amy asks as she perches on the edge of the bed.

“Exhausted, I think.” Yaz replies.

Amy nods, and rubs at her forehead with her hand, letting out a long sigh. Yaz hesitates for a moment before asking, “Did you have any idea that she was this bad?”

Amy shakes her head, an action full of regret and remorse. “No. I had no idea. She wasn’t like that… she didn’t have anything like _that_ before.”

The vision of River remains an unnamed entity not graced with the title of the woman Jo and Amy had known and loved. Not when, a grief-induced vision, it had turned Jo’s mind on her and convinced her she was worth nothing. Her best friend and the woman in love with her will not stand to name it.

“It must have been eating away at her…” Amy mutters, running her hand down from her forehead across a face lined with stress. Yaz’s heart aches with sympathy for Amy, to have witnessed all she has, to see what her best friend has been going through.

“Are you alright?” She asks. She remembers Amy’s recollection of the event which had catalysed Jo’s move to Kennock Cove, the regret and misplaced guilt- there was a lot of that going around- on her face. The pain of seeing Jo as she had been earlier must have been doubled by the taint of those memories.

Amy gives her a small sad smile. “No. I’ve never been more scared in my life, and Rory’s almost died about… three times?” Amy says, scrunching her face up as she thinks. Yaz cannot tell whether she is being serious or not, and a moment later any façade is dropped and Yaz sees the utter exhaustion on her face, shaded into her cheekbones and around her eyes. “Maybe this had been coming for a long time. Maybe this was all a build-up since the last time.”

“But we’ve got to her. We can help her now. Support while she gets help.” Yaz tries to reassure her, and she licks her lips before adding, hoping she is not overstepping a line, “I think it’s time for us all to stop blaming ourselves for things we cannot wholly control.”

Amy lets out a snort, but it is not dismissive, derogatory, but disbelieving, and she shakes her head at Yaz as if in amazement. “You’d best be careful, or I’ll threaten to kiss you again.”

Yaz lets out a light laugh, relieved her suggestion has not caused offence. On her high she replies, “Maybe _I’ll_ kiss _you_. You’ve been the one encouraging me on all this time.” The advice Amy has given has helped Yaz to get where she is now; a more supportive best friend she has never seen ( _no offence Bill,_ she thinks).

Amy brushes her compliment to the side with a wave of her hand. “Ahh. Just looking out for her. Don’t tell her I said this, it will go straight to her head, but… I love her. She’s my best friend. And…” She lets out a long sigh, and a hand rests lightly on Jo’s shin, running over in light motions. “It’s what I felt I could do. I couldn’t… do what you did today. Seeing that, and knowing River, and having my own grief for her… I don’t think I’d have managed. Watching was more than enough.”

Yaz nods understandingly, and watches as Amy looks down at her lap, blinking hard, finally relenting and bringing up a hand to wipe at the tears which fall from her eyes. She shoots a glance at Yaz and laughs self-depreciatingly. “Rory’s not going to know what’s going to hit him later.”

Yaz gives her a sympathetic smile, not sure what to say, but she gives the other woman a moment to deal with her own emotions, her own grief, which must have been dredged up by the events of the day. She cannot provide Amy the same comfort that she can for Jo, but she is glad at least the other woman is comfortable enough to express what is behind her usual bold and confident personality. This has all brought them closer together, and when Yaz thinks of how quickly the people here had fallen into action to find Jo and bring her home to safety something warm sits in her stomach, at how much this place, these people, feel like home. A new home built on love and understanding and knowing. She lets that thought sit within in her, comfortable.

Amy sniffs, and when she raises her head again to its normal height, proud, her ginger hair cascading down past her shoulders like a cape of confidence, her cheeks are dry and the glint in her eye from the tears catches in the light a relief, as if she has let go of something heavy. “Maybe now we can learn to move on. Carry the grief a bit easier. My back aches sometimes. Although maybe that’s from lugging all those trays around in the café.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re old.” A muffled voice suggests, and Yaz looks down in surprise to see Jo’s eyes blearily half-open as she looks up at Amy, a tiny smirk on her face. Amy’s mouth falls open in surprise and then her eyes narrow.

“Were you listening this whole time?” She asks Jo, mock offended. “You cheeky bampot!”

 _“Bampot?”_ Yaz asks. What kind of a word is that?

“Idiot.” Amy says dismissively. 

“Excuse me?” Yaz protests. Where had that come from?

“You’re the bampot.” Jo mutters, a finger lazily prodding Amy’s leg.

“Not you, Yaz, _she’s_ the idiot.” Amy says, poking Jo in the leg.

“Ooh…” Yaz says, finally understanding what the word means. Must be a Scottish phrase.

“Thank you.” Jo replies, eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey.” Amy says, shaking Jo’s leg lightly where she is still touching it, and Jo’s eyes blink open again and she looks up at Amy. “You’re not really an idiot.”

Her words skate deeper meanings and Jo must understand this, or at least must have been seeking something from Amy in the aftermath of all that has happened which makes her relax and grab at Amy’s hand and squeeze it. Amy gives her a big, watery smile and bends down to kiss her on the cheek. Yaz tries not to look too pointedly, desperately trying to give them a moment of privacy, but it is hard when Jo’s cheek rests on her thigh.

“Neither are you, Pond.” Jo murmurs as Amy straightens, and Yaz sees the woman still almost imperceptibly in the moment when she, too, relaxes. Unspoken words, action of forgiveness and understanding between the two best friends. The air in the room seems thinner, it is easier to breathe.

“Sleep.” Amy orders, patting Jo’s leg before rising from the bed. “And in the morning, I’ll drop off some clothes and your contacts and stuff. _And_ I’ll bring you about ten pain au chocolat.”

Jo smiles sleepily, sighing contentedly. “Make it thirteen.”

Amy frowns. “Why thirteen?”

Jo does her best to shrug in her supine position. “Just like the number.”

Amy sighs and says, “Weirdo,” but she has a relieved smirk on her face as she says it. With a nod at Yaz she adds, “I’ll leave you two to it.” 

Yaz nods back and watches as Amy leaves, the door clicking quietly behind her before she shifts, shuffling until she is lying down, arm slung around Jo’s shoulders, legs hooked over hers. Jo lets out a long breath, eyelashes fluttering as she fights against the hold of the sedative.

“Go to sleep.” Yaz prompts her.

Jo shuffles into her side more, fidgeting, and Yaz knows then that she is nervous. “I… I don’t want to have a nightmare.”

Yaz tightens her hold, hand rubbing Jo’s back in a soothing manner. “I’ll be here to wake you up if you do.”

“What if it… what if it comes back?” Jo asks her, and the open vulnerability in her tone floods Yaz and both breaks her heart in the hearing of it and mends it in the being trusted to hear.

“Then you tell me, and we’ll work it out together.” She says firmly, looking deeply into hazel eyes slightly glassy with exhaustion and the drugged pull of Hypnos.

“Together?” Jo asks as she can no longer fight the pull, as her eyes flutter shut, and her body goes limp.

“Together.” Yaz affirms and holds the sleeping woman tighter.

The storm rages on around them and within, but Jo is in Yaz’s arms, and they have both been let inside and have found shelter from the storm. Together. 

* * *

Sunday is a cosy blanket wrapped around the both of them, cocooning them from any other thoughts than simply resting and resetting. Martha appears briefly for another check-up, but she is reassured when Jo states she has seen no more of the vision which had haunted her, and she leaves once more with the promise of further help, and she has this look of pensiveness on her face, but Yaz trusts her to help. Amy and Rory are there, when Jo and Yaz finally make their way from the bed to the couch downstairs, and Yaz is relieved when Jo eats three pain au chocolat one after the other and drinks an amount of tea which might be considered obscene. None of them comment, none of them do anything but simply be with her. She is not going to be alone again; no longer a lonely island cut off from the shore.

_You do not have to do this alone._

Yaz had been expecting long waits and lists and tedious bureaucracy if they were to finally get Jo the help she needs and, as far as Yaz can tell, wants, but instead Martha surprises her by knocking on the door Monday morning with someone else in tow, a someone with kind eyes creased with age and with knowledge who smiles politely and introduces herself as Sarah-Jane Smith.

“Sarah-Jane’s a good friend.” Martha explains. They are all stood in the hallway, Yaz and Martha and Sarah-Jane. “She used to be a journalist but re-trained as a therapist a few years back.”

“Journalistic work means I’m good at probing the question, but then now I also know the right question to ask and when not to ask anything at all.” Sarah-Jane says, and her tone is light and warm and Yaz immediately gets a good feeling about her. She holds out her hand for Sarah-Jane to shake, looking to Martha with a question in her eyes and the crease in her brow.

“I thought it might be worth seeing if Sarah-Jane could be good for Jo to talk to, see if she’s compatible to begin helping her. Sarah-Jane only works part-time at the hospital, so she’s got availability to commit to helping Jo if she wants her to.”

“I lost someone.” Sarah-Jane says, and Yaz’s eyes flit to her. “That’s why I began all of this. It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through and I thought if I could just help others make sense of what they’re feeling then well, maybe my world would be better for it, too.”

Yaz is touched, and her good feeling blossoms into hope.

“Come and meet Jo.” 

* * *

Bill keeps Yaz preoccupied as Sarah-Jane meets with Jo in the living room, and understanding her best friend does not want to talk on anything heavy she ropes her into making cakes. She distracts her with banter left over from school days, lulls her into a comfortable pattern of quip and jibe. By the time Jo finally emerges, Sarah-Jane and Martha behind her, Yaz has flour streaked across her face and cake batter on her nose, and her and Bill are giggling at Ryan’s expense. Yaz’s attention is caught when she hears the front door close and sees blonde hair slip upstairs soon after, and she gives Jo five minutes before she trails up the stairs after her, wiping the aftermath of the baking from her face.

She can hear the sounds of the bath running from behind the closed bathroom door, and when she peeks around the corner of her bedroom, she finds it empty. She hesitates for a moment before she pads across to the bathroom door and knocks lightly on the wood.

“Jo?” She calls. “Do you want me to leave or to stay?”

Whilst they are falling back into each other, Yaz understands that privacy might still be wanted and is probably needed at times. She leaves Jo the offer.

After a moment, Jo’s voice calls, “Stay. Please.”

Yaz carefully turns the doorknob and peers around the bathroom door. She is reminded of a time a few weeks ago when their roles were reversed, and Jo had been the one to peer in and help Yaz when she was incapacitated. They had been brushing against each other carefully, then, toeing the line, but now Yaz feels no embarrassment flare up, no awkward fumbling over bodies and personal space, only a hint of desire, quickly swamped by concern, when she sees Jo, naked, water slowly rising up to her neck in the bathtub as the water runs from the tap, bubbles forming where she has poured in what looks to be a copious amount of the bubble bath which sits on the side of the tub, tears streaming down her face. The gushing tap fills the silence as Yaz evaluates the scene, and then she is closing the bathroom door behind her and kneeling down by the tub, turning off the tap before the sound of the water gets too loud in both of their ears. The silence afterwards reverberates, and Yaz’s words fill it.

“You okay?” She asks, and the immediate denial from Jo, the shake of her head as her eyes clench shut has Yaz seeking Jo’s hand under the bubbly mass of water. She pauses when Jo turns away, her limbs curled in upon themselves, hands curling under her knees. She licks her lips and asks, “How was it with Sarah-Jane?”

Jo sniffs, fingers running over her knees. “It was… a lot.” She fumbles for words, and Yaz keeps her presence calm and reassuring, her own fingers dipping into the bath to make idle circles in the water. Small soap suds cling to her skin. “It… She’s going to start properly tomorrow. Begin working through…. Everything.” She says, the word ‘everything’ hitching with anxiety as she lets out a shuddering breath.

“That’s good.” Yaz replies. “Isn’t it?”

Her questioning is careful, just like the tracing of her fingers through the water, not plunging deep below the depths but enough to encourage Jo to open up with her, to get used to letting Yaz in again. They are rebuilding trust, re-establishing the rhythm which has been disrupted by that disquiet orchestra. Insecurities admitted to during gentler times in their relationship have now wormed their way into said relationship, and they both need a reminder that there is no judgement between the two of them, there is no ulterior motive, only the care and concern for a treasured one. A loved one. Words said on a clifftop must now be proven in the commitment to them. Summoning the courage to do that comes as easy as breathing to Yaz.

Jo shrugs, droplets off water trailing down her shoulders. “Yeah, it’s just…” She clenches her eyes shut, head turning to the side as she lets out a sob, and Yaz moves her hand from the water to one of those tense shoulders. Jo’s eyes blink open and look at Yaz’s hand before her gaze travels upwards to Yaz’s face before finally settling on her eyes. She blinks with amazement, with wonder, and she shakes her head slowly. “How are you doing this? How are you so calm? After all I’ve done, after all I’ve said to you…. I feel so ashamed.” She sobs again, eyes breaking away from Yaz’s. “I didn’t realise how bad it had got, Yaz! And now I’ve hurt us both and I just don’t recognise myself! I’ve made _us_ all about me and I can’t believe I did all that to you, I-” She shrugs again, the action more violent this time, water sloshing over the side of the tub and soaking through Yaz’s jeans. 

Yaz hesitates for just a second before she suddenly stands and begins to pull off her own clothes.

“Care if I join you?”

“Errr, no, Yaz-what?!” Jo splutters as she watches Yaz strip down to her underwear, and then, those, too, are removed with a snap of elastic and the unclasping of a bra.

“Shove up.” Yaz orders, and Jo does, limbs scrambling against the slippery porcelain as Yaz slips into the bath behind her, stretching her legs out so that Jo is captured between them. She guides Jo until the other woman tentatively lies back against Yaz, the other’s arms slung over her shoulders casually, alluding to no sensual touch; this is comfort, this is comfort in the most equal sense, both naked, both exposed.

She can feel the sobs which shake Jo’s body, and she pools a bunch of bubbles in her hand and guides them so that they cover each other in a pseudo-blanket. Jo’s head comes to rest on Yaz’s shoulder, and in the cosy atmosphere of the bathroom Yaz begins to speak.

“Don’t be ashamed. More than anything I don’t want you to be ashamed of all that’s happened.” She begins, her fingers beginning to drift lazy circles in the water once more. “Life has dealt you many horrible hands and yet you’re still here. Fighting.”

“Barely. Barely _coping_.” Jo counters, huffing.

“I don’t think there’s one way to deal with things, Jo.” Yaz replies. “No one ever knows instinctively how to cope with things. No one should be expected to know what to do when things get hard, and no one should be judged for struggling when they’re coping as best as they can.” Yaz’s words are tinged with irritation born of years of self-loathing, self-punishment. “I’m sick of punishing myself for everything that happens to me. I’m sick of thinking I’m not good enough when really…. I am. I’m going to be me, and still have the problems I do and the hang-ups I do, and I think I’ve finally realised….”

“What?” Jo prompts when Yaz trails off, her thoughts moving so quickly she is desperately trying to think of the words to explain them.

“… That they’re _my_ problems.” She says. “They’re not… not more than me, they’re _mine._ I own them. They don’t own me. They define my strengths, and I am not defined by them. And there’s no shame in them because it’s… natural. No one should ever be told not to feel what they do. No one should think that when they struggle to cope, they are failing themselves. It’s like I said, we’re made of multitudes. Sometimes I can deal with certain things, other times I can’t. I’m not one person always staying in one place, in one state. We’re always in flux. I just got… pissed off, with those doubts stopping me, not when I knew what I wanted.”

“And what’s that?” Jo asks, voice a whisper.

“Well, I wanted the promotion. Wanted to prove to that self-doubt that I am good enough.” Yaz replies, and then she lets out a soft sigh. “But the thing that I really wanted- the _person_ I really wanted… was you.”

Jo stiffens for a moment before she relaxes, craning her neck back as much as she can to try and look up at Yaz. Yaz peers down at her to make it easier. “I took control of what was bothering me when it all started going…. _Pear_ shaped.” Yaz says, trying to word it politely.

Jo scoffs. “I hate pears.”

Yaz smiles. “You know what I mean. But… I recognised my doubts and my fears and I channelled them into something else. I channelled them into raising myself up and helping you.” Instead of falling into the clutches of her own demons, Yaz had stood on their backs and reached up to find that part of her that always flourishes under pressure, fuelled on by more than just feeling comfortable in her own skin. Fuelled on by her love for Jo, also. And that, she thinks, eclipses anything else she feels.

Yaz’s hand moves from the water to Jo’s arm, tracing over the scars that mar her skin. Yaz might not have physical scars, but the event which have shaped her have still left their mark. But like Jo’s scars they are faded remnants of old wounds, no longer open and gaping. They sting at times, but they do not bleed as heavily. “I’m not suddenly fixed _._ Not suddenly without fears and doubts. I know I won’t always feel that strong. But… I might be calm, but I’m not still. There’s still a ton of emotions going on in my brain. So please don’t feel ashamed. Not for this.”

Jo looks down at the motion of Yaz’s fingers tracing her scars, following their arbitrary movement with her eyes. Her head shifts on Yaz’s shoulder, blonde hair brushing against the delicate skin of her neck.

“I’ve been fighting it, I think. Fighting it because you… you were like this person who popped this bubble of grief. I was trapped in it and then being with you, Yaz… you make my brain feel calmer, my grief easier to carry. You let me talk about her, let me do so without having to be a grieving widow. I could just be myself talking about her. And you also make me feel _alive._ So… alive like I haven’t known it since….” She licks her lips. “And then I began to hope of something more. More with you. But then it preyed on the thought of _you,_ the concept of being with you and twisted it until the guilt of being with you overwhelmed me and the guilt about River, and it was all so twisted in my mind… it still is, I can’t get it all straight yet!”

She has sat upright whilst she has been talking, forcing Yaz to drop her hold on her arm as she leans forward with elbows on knees, finger curling into her hair.

“I think I pushed myself too far, Yaz. In trying to fix myself I broke myself even more. Driving that car…” She shudders. “I shouldn’t have done that. And then I involved you, and that’s the worst thing of all because it’s like my brain took the one thing that was good, the one thing that made my grief easier to carry and twisted it into something else, something to feel worse about, and I didn’t want that but I couldn’t _stop_ it! And now it’s gotten to this and I still can’t quite wrap my head around what’s happened.”

_Sometimes I don’t know who I am._

“Jo, you don’t need fixing. You’re not broken.” Yaz replies. “If you’re broken then I must be too. Do you think that?”

“No, Yaz, I-”

“You see, we’re just two women doing our best to cope with all that life throws at us.” Yaz says with a patient tone and patient eyes. Jo raises her head from her hands and turns in the bath, water sloshing all over the place, going over the sides of the tub and hitting the floor with a slap. She is twisted with her curled up legs digging into Yaz’s own, hands grabbing the side of the tub.

“I still want to apologise.” Jo says. “It would feel… good, to be able to apologise. Properly.”

Yaz nods in understanding. It reminds her of how she felt when she had snapped at Jo when tempers were short and a text about a man who threatened Yaz’s confidence in her ability to do her job had come during a tense car journey. She had wanted to apologise to Jo for snapping, even though she had been exhausted, in pain and overthinking beyond belief. Taking accountability and charge of one’s actions had felt good, in an odd sense. “Okay.”

Jo looks relieved and she shuffles a little in the bath, keeping a firm grip on the side so she does not go sliding down. “I’m sorry, Yaz. For everything I said, everything I did.”

Oscar’s name does not grace the safe space they have created; Yaz knows why it was him, how easy it would have been for Jo to turn to him to make a misguided point, how much Oscar has been chasing her with hate and lust in equal measure, and Yaz nods and smiles and accepts Jo’s apology before it can. “I forgive you.”

Jo slides back and resumes her previous position of being cradled by Yaz’s legs and her arms. They sit in a comfortable silence for a while before Jo quietly admits, “I think it’s going to take me a while to figure this all out. I still don’t know exactly _how_ I am going to do that.”

“Well, you’re gonna try with Sarah-Jane, right?” Yaz says, and Jo nods. “But I think you’re doing amazing already. Have done amazing already. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Yaz.” Jo says, and Yaz can hear the smile on her lips, and her chest is warmed by more than Jo’s body against hers. “When you were sayin’ all that stuff ‘bout yourself just then…”

“You helped with that a lot.” Yaz admits. “You say I calm you, well, you calm me, too.”

Jo lets out a sigh, both heavy and light, tinged with the joy of Yaz’s words and the uncertainty in believing them. “There are things I’ve always felt about myself which I took as fact, but now I’m realisin’ they’re not. I was misreading them. But I can’t seem to find the way to read them now, and …”

“It’s easier said than done?” Yaz finishes for her, and Jo nods, letting out a long breath. “That’s okay, Jo, that’s something you can do something about. You are doing something about.” Yaz says. She licks her lips as she considers her next words. “Amy, she had to tell me about what was happening, when you had disappeared, and things were getting…”

“Pear-ilous?” Jo suggests, and Yaz falters, blinking.

“Did you just-?”

“Sorry, I’m nervous. Really nervous.” Jo says with a wince. Her eyes flit down to herself, to her body, and then back to Yaz. “I’m naked in a bath with you. I might be having a breakdown. There’s a lot happening.”

Yaz shakes her head in bemusement, but she is secretly pleased to have this glimpse of Jo at her best, Jo at her awkward, fumbling, doing-her-best best. Not an act, just someone comfortable to be themselves around Yaz.

“What I was trying to say is I know why you did it, that pushing me away made sense to you then.” Yaz says. “And I just want to say outright that you do not have to feel like you have to push me away. I know my saying it won’t change that immediately, but I wanted to say it outright to you, because you mean so much to me.” Yaz had spent a lot of her time dodging the outright statement of emotion, of devotion, but has grown stronger as the two of them were pulled together, bound together by time alone, and then tested by time apart, only to now, she hopes, be even more solidly bound by the being together again. Stating what she wants is not so scary anymore. “I meant it when I said you mean everything to me. _Everything_. Your hurts, your wounds. If I’d have wanted a simple summer romance with someone maybe I should have tried another village.” Yaz says, and Jo’s lips lift in a small smile at her quip. “I can help you carry your burdens. I want to do that for you.”

“And I want to help carry yours.” Jo says, attempting to sit back up and turn around in the tub. She manages it with a bit of fumbling, until she is facing Yaz, knees up to her chest, bubbles climbing up to her shoulders. “I just know that I want to be with you, Yaz. That something I’m sure of, even when I’m not sure of myself. I can do that can’t I?”

Yaz smiles. “Of course you can. And… I’d love it if you did.”

Jo gives her a small smile like the sun peeking through grey clouds. The light in the bathroom seems to get brighter. Yaz wants to lean forwards and kiss her. And so, she asks.

“Yes.” Jo says, with a desperation belying her need for comfort. Her need for _Yaz’s_ comfort.

It is a soft and lingering kiss, the cherish of two people who have come together against the odds, the physical act representing their determination. Taking ownership of emotions, no more running from them, facing them, confronting that ‘thing’ in the woods, is the first step towards making peace with that ‘thing’. They are both doing their best to work towards that harmony, and Yaz knows that it is going to be so much easier with one another by each other’s side, supporting and encouraging. Hunting season is over, Yaz and Jo have stopped the storm which fuels that ‘thing’ from sinking its teeth in until there is no repair from its wounds, and now it is the time for them to help one another, being the support they need for each other as both individuals and together, as Jo and Yaz. Yaz understands that they will need to find the space within their relationship for the shadows which define their light, but letting the ghost of River into the space between them has always come easy to Yaz, she supposes because loving Jo as unconditionally as she does, she is worth all of her, both shadow and light.

They break apart, and both of them smile tentatively, warmly. Jo’s eyes stare deep into Yaz’s, a sure sign she is comfortable. 

The question of what they are and where they are going is put on hold for now. What is important is that they _are_ together, exposing their flaws and feeling comfortable in doing so. It is delicate and tentative, like each heart is one piece of a china cup; careful work to put it back together, but once united and conjoined, the delicate quality can withstand very hot waters. And Yaz believes that their love will survive this; it cements that resolution and confidence which she has been cultivating and carefully nourishing. She is not an idealist, Yaz knows the journey ahead will not be easy sailing, but there is a strength in their relationship, despite there not being a label on it yet, which did not exist before, which tells her that, perhaps for forever, there will be no life without Jo in it for Yaz. No more masks, no more pretences, and, most importantly, Jo’s eyes do not stray to the corners of the room, do not focus on something which is not there.

Jo lets out a long sigh, dipping her head down so that her hair falls in front of her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

Yaz gives her a sympathetic smile and reaches out to push Jo’s hair back so she can see her face. “That’s to be expected. We don’t have to do anything today. Amy is popping round with Grace, but we can just rest.”

Jo nods, looking relieved, and also looking like then and there she could fall asleep.

“Can I wash your hair?” Yaz asks. She thinks the experience will be a comfort for the both of them. She really wants to do that for Jo.

Jo nods, and carefully shuffles herself around again so that Yaz can begin to run her hands through tangled locks. She feels filled to the brim with sunlight, the intimate action between two people so natural and yet so exciting. Jo lets out a soft sigh, allowing her head to tip back a bit.

Outside, rain lashes against the windowpane, but the bath is warm and Jo’s body even warmer. Yaz sinks lower into the water and lower into the cosy atmosphere of the two of them together, women shaken by the world but not broken, both equal and both doing their best.

And their best is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Just want to reiterate again I'm basing this off my own experiences with MH, and am in no way an professional 😊 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1 
> 
> See you Thursday!


	32. To Love and To Know (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind comments on the last chapter, enjoy this one!!
> 
> TW: Discussions of mental health (lighter than in previous chapters)

Monday brings Jo’s first proper session with Sarah-Jane, and she re-appears from the sitting room after an hour or so with the other woman, pale and tired, but she summons a smile for Yaz and lets Yaz press a kiss to her cheek for her own comfort. Yaz had spent that time pacing furiously in the kitchen and annoying Bill to no end until her best friend had lost her patience and popped into the village for some baking decorations. Yaz feels slightly guilty that she still has not talked properly with her best friend about all that is happening, but Bill is smart and perceptive and also kind, and Yaz is sure she has probably understood what is happening in her own home already, and is not blaming Yaz for not telling her yet.

When Sarah-Jane is gone, driving off in a small mint green car with white soft-top roof, Jo slumps against the wall, running a hand through her hair. Yaz takes the other one in her own, not saying anything, just waiting for the other woman to choose whether she wants to say anything or not, confident in the fact that Yaz will be there whether she does or not.

“I’m not used to talking about myself like that, it’s very…. Draining.” She finally says and Yaz nods. It must be hard for Jo, a woman who prefers to express emotion through action, having to find herself talking about them instead. “But,” She adds, dropping her hand and looking at Yaz. “Sarah-Jane is good, she… she gets it, not just because of her qualifications, but because of her experiences. It was her husband she lost. She’s easy to talk to.”

“Good. I’m really glad.” Yaz replies, and Jo tugs her closer by their conjoined hands and into a hug, burying her nose in Yaz’s neck.

It will be a long process, a slow process, but Yaz knows in the end it will be worth it. As she tosses and turns in bed that night, Jo’s even breaths in her ear, the other woman curled into Yaz’s side, stuck to her like a limpet to a rock, thoughts of time and how it continues to tick down reminds her of how she is leaving next week, next Monday. The thought of postponing has crossed her mind more than one time in the middle of all that is happening, but her boss has already arranged a meeting for next Tuesday, and there wasn’t much Yaz could do but respond to his email with a ‘See you then’ without risking looking like she was undecided.

Which she is not. Not really. Only… things are not clear. She has hope for the future of her and Jo and she knows they will figure something out, but she cannot help but worry about how more stretched things might be by the long-distance between them. It will be another test to their tenacity, and Yaz does not doubt the feelings which fuel said tenacity, but reality knocks as loud as ever, and images of the last few days’ events, the emotional upheaval, a storm in the tea cup of Jo and Yaz, sloshes threateningly in the dead of night. Yaz huffs, giving up on trying to sleep. She gently untangles herself from Jo’s hold, shifting to the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet up over the other woman before she quietly leaves the room, padding down the stairs and to the front door, opening it carefully and stepping outside. Her own self-confidence is flourishing, but its endurance is tested, and with no sunlight to gleam some lightness from Yaz finds herself pacing the small patch of garden outside the front door as the moon bears audience to her worry.

She does not know how long it has been before she hears footsteps padding across the grass towards her, and she stops her pacing and turns to see Bill approaching her, arms crossed over her chest, hoodie slung on over her pyjamas.

“Bloody freezing out here.” She grumbles. “Weather’s been shit ever since I got here.”

“It knew you were coming.” Yaz says teasingly, but her tone is not as light-hearted as she was going for, and Bill frowns, coming to a stop next to Yaz.

“You okay?” She asks her quietly as they both stand there overlooking a village caught in shadow, the slight glint of the waves as they catch at the moonlight and use it to illuminate their movement.

“Oh…” Yaz sighs. “Just… think everything that’s happened is hittin’ me.” The emotion bubbles under her skin, curling in her stomach, threatening to water at her eyes. “Just seeing her so distressed like that, it’s… sad.” The word is an understatement, a lame referral to the storm of emotions, but they are all Yaz can come up with in the dead of night. She turns to Bill with a small, regretful smile. “Sorry, I know I haven’t really told you much about what’s happened.” 

Bill puts a hand on Yaz’s arm. “You don’t have to go through it all if you don’t want to, Yaz. And, well, I have eyes, and ears… and a brain.”

Yaz summons a small, watery smile at that. “Yeah. I thought you’d get the gist of it all.”

A tears trails a slow path down her cheek, and Bill must catch a glimpse of it by moonlight, as the next thing she does it gather Yaz in a hug, her body warm and soft and comforting in the gloom. Yaz sniffles, the stream of saltwater coming thick and fast now she is in the arms of her best friend, soaking in her reassurance.

“You’ve done amazing, Yaz.” Bill whispers into her hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

They stand there for as long as it takes for Yaz to cry up the emotion, feeling it leave her, the teacup being spilled and all the stormy water dripping from it and from Yaz’s eyes. This is the simple release of pent-up emotion in the most natural way, the most human way. Water has seemingly surrounded Yaz in different forms throughout her time in Kennock Cove, but these tears flow with the release of pent up feeling, and when she finally pulls away with a sniff, wiping away their tracks with her sleeve, she feels lighter, better.

“I needed that.” She says with a smile, and Bills nods.

“No doubt.”

“Why are you up this late?” Yaz asks to change to topic.

Bill shrugs. “Just thinking about this place. Mum and dad.”

Her tone is laden with heavier implication, and Yaz nudges her arm with her elbow. Bill turns to her with a small sad smile, which Yaz returns, putting her arm around Bill’s shoulders, offering comfort in return.

“So,” Bill says after a short while. “S’that the only reason you’re out here at who knows what hour?”

Yaz sighs, eyes trailing upwards to the pearlescent moon, stepping away from Bill to cross her arms over her chest. “Just… wondering what’s gonna come next.”

Bill looks at her out of the side of her eye. “You mean between you and Jo?”

Yaz nods.

“Well, you seem more… decisive than you’ve sounded about her, more in control of things. Of your feelings and stuff. You were a right mess on all those phone calls. Soppier than a mop.”

“Oi!” Yaz protests, but there is a cheeky grin on Bill’s face and Yaz returns it with one of her own, but gives her a light shove for good measure, releasing her hold on her. “But, yeah, I am. I’m feeling good about things.”

“And she has apologised about what she said, right?” Bill asks. “As your best friend I need to know there’s been an apology. I get she’s got shit going on right now, but-”

“Yeah, she’s apologised.” Yaz says with a small laugh to appease Bill. Ever the loyal best friend, Bill. “She insisted on it.”

“Good.” Bill says with a nod, and she looks genuinely pleased and relieved. She gives Yaz’s shoulder a small shove. “Well, I hope it was my advice that got you there.”

Yaz rolls her eyes and says with a smirk, “Well, obviously.”

“I expect my payment very soon.” Bill says with a wink, and simply groans and mutters a fond insult in return.

“So, what we doin’ out here worrying ‘bout things then?” Bill asks her, showing her hands into her hoodie. “If everything’s a bit better between the two of you?”

Yaz sighs and lets her head tip back so that she is peering up at stars. They look down on her like lonely beacons of light in the sky, but when Yaz looks closer, she can make out connections, constellations. She wishes it were that easy for her to make out the path ahead of her, and yet she also knows that that is not possible. She has come to terms with that, but…

“I know I cannot choose one over the other.” She begins. “I know I have to balance things, have both work and a relationship, but…”

“But it’s harder to accept that when all you want to do is be with her?” Bill finishes for her.

“Exactly.” Yaz says, letting her head tip forward again to look at her friend. “Especially now. She needs me. We need each other.”

“Yeah, but… you need this job, too. Don’t you?” Bill asks her.

Yaz shrugs. “I _want_ it. Want to prove myself wrong, want to prove my insecurities wrong. Want to reclaim my home as somewhere I’m comfortable, making myself better. Stronger, you know?”

Bill nods.

“Just… feels like I’m trying to carve out so many places for myself. Trying to carve out a new place in Sheffield. Trying to carve out a relationship with her. I know I can, it’s just… _how,_ exactly.”

“Yaz, the way I see it, you two have already gone through a lot of shit together.” Bill says, as straight to the point as ever. “This could have been it, the thing that broke it, and yet… you’re here, you’ve survived it… I think you can overcome whatever comes next.”

“You think?” Yaz asks, encouraged by Bill’s words.

“This isn’t an ordinary relationship, trust me, I’ve had way too many passing romances to know.” Bill says with a light scoff and a raised eyebrow. “This is soulmate level stuff, Yaz.”

Soulmate. Yaz has never really thought about it that way but…. She supposes that Jo does feel how a soulmate is supposed to feel. Like a warm heat, before you even realised you were cold… Like happiness, when you did not realise you were unhappy.

“Just leaving Monday…. seems like too soon.” She says with a sad smirk.

“Could you stay longer?” Bill asks.

Yaz shakes her head. “I’ve got a meeting with my boss on Tuesday.”

Bill makes an ‘ahh’ sound and sighs, twisting her body to and fro as she thinks. “What if…” She says after a while. “You need to lay out what you need from the relationship?”

“Huh?” Yaz asks, confused.

“Well, it’s obvious you guys have got this natural affinity, soulmates and all that…” Bill says, and Yaz nods slowly. “But you’re gonna need to bring some practical matters into play if you’re going to make things work, right? Especially with her down here and you up in Sheffield.”

“So… what do you suggest?” Yaz asks, catching onto Bill’s line of thinking.

“You need to set some ground rules out, if you guys are gonna be serious about it. What you need from the relationship, what she needs. Look after yourselves as well as each other. That sounds adult enough, right?” Bill says, and she cocks her eyebrow, looking to Yaz for a reaction.

It… really does make sense. It sits right by the rational and realistic line of Yaz’s way of thinking, sits alongside her knowing that this is not going to be an easy ride and reassures her that if they can do things right, and combine their love with a practicality which ensures it flourishes, then the hard path is going to be much easier to walk along.

“That… does make sense.” Yaz says, and she turns to Bill with a smile. “When did you become a relationship guru?”

Bills shrugs and spreads her arms wide. “Don’t ever doubt me, Yaz. You should know that by now.” Bill gives her a cheeky grin before she sobers a little and swings her arm around Yaz’s shoulders. “Just… think about yourself in this as well, okay? You’re my best friend, and I’m so happy for you, finding someone like Jo… but don’t burn yourself out looking out for her. And, I know, I know you like her coming to you, you’ve always been that dependable person, I get it.” Bill says with a smirk when she sees Yaz go to protest. “Just… emotions are high, don’t let them overwhelm you. Make it so is sticks, yeah?”

Yaz nods and lets her eyes travel to the night sky once more, the constellations much clearer, the pattern less arbitrary. Like a machine, their relationship has found its fuel but needs the composite parts, the cogs and wheels that make it work, to turn correctly, so that the fuel which feeds them does not leak, does not splutter from the engine like it does in Graham’s minibus. Yaz needs to find the parts she can contribute, what she wants to make their machine go forward into unknown territory.

She thinks she knows what she wants. Now it is a matter of finding the time to talk to Jo before she leaves.

The clock is ticking down. 

* * *

The clock is ticking, and of course Yaz knows it has not really slowed just for them, but the next few days feel as if they trail on for centuries, and by increments Jo begins to emerge from the shadows, the storm clouds thinning, until she is- well, normal is not a word Yaz would ever use to describe the other woman, but… stable. More talkative, more fidgety, her leg bouncing up and down when they are sat still, Yaz reading to her from the pile of books which she had, with a little guilt, forgotten about in the light of their relationship’s escalation. Yaz sends a thank you to the universe, for allowing her to savour these hours, where they do not speak much of anything, only soaking each other in.

The others are around, too, filling some of those hours with their presence, reminding the both of them that their support is there and offering no judgement, no pitying looks in Jo’s direction. Thursday evening sees Jack and Ryan turning up on the doorstep with a hamper in Ryan’s hand, and he announces that Grace has sent him with food to cook for them, and Yaz raises her eyebrows sceptically but lets them in nonetheless.

And sceptical she should have been, for not half an hour later, the fire alarm is screeching, and Ryan is launching a tray of baked food out into the front garden on the baking tray like some kind of savoury frisbee. Poor Bill, who is sat at the patio table minding her own business, gets pastry in her hair, and with a furious expression she throws burnt food back at Ryan, and before Yaz can even blink a food fight has ensued. She desperately tries to mediate the situation whilst Jack claps and jeers until Ryan shoves pastry down the back of his shirt. Throughout the whole altercation Jo laughs, a deep proper laugh like Yaz has not heard since before their car crash, and Yaz knows then that the burnt smell which she dreads will linger for hours will have been worth it.

Jack and Ryan get sent down to the fish and chip shop in the village instead and return with five servings, which they all share on the patio, every now and then Yaz and Jo feeding each other chips, prompting Bill to fake vomiting until Yaz kicks her under the table.

“Ow! What were that for?” Ryan protests instead, and Yaz winces.

“Sorry, Ry, that were meant for Bill.” She apologises.

“I accidently kicked a stand in a supermarket once, and all these tins of baked beans went rolling around the place.” Jo says as she stuffs a chip into her mouth. “I were there for about half an hour trying to pick them all up. By the time I got to the lecture I was supposed to be teaching half the time had gone, and then I had beans in my hair and hadn’t noticed.”

“How do you not notice?” Bill asks her with bewilderment.

“Well, ‘cause they were also in my shoe.” Jo says as if it was obvious.

“Oh…” Bill says with a nod and snaps her jaw shut. Yaz stifles her smirk, barely.

Increment by increment, strange anecdote by strange anecdote, the sun is beginning to shine through the clouds.

By Friday, Yaz is realising that she and Jo desperately need to chat about the state of things before she departs in only a few days, but finding the time to do that is hard, when she does not want to push too far when things are so delicately falling into a rhythm. She skates the subject, like one comfortable on the ice but avoiding the very centre, where is might easily crack and she could fall into icy water, knowing with their better judgement that too much pressure will send one falling through; she decides to leave it for the later in the day, once Jo has had time to recuperate and re-energise after her session with Sarah-Jane.

Only, Jo beats her to it.

Yaz inadvertently falls asleep in the middle of the day, having accompanied Jo upstairs to lie down on the bed once Sarah-Jane had departed with a smile and a wave, and she wakes in the late afternoon discombobulated and disorientated, her cheeks flushing red as she comes back to her senses. The bed next to her is empty, and she slips from the bed, stretching, and pads out onto the landing. She falters in her step as the smell of cooking greets her, all too familiar, now laced with memories of both home and of Jo (also home). Eyes narrowing, Yaz slips down the stairs in socked feet, undetected by whoever is cooking. She hears a voice from the kitchen.

“Don’t stick, don’t stick, don’t- yes!”

Slinking over to the kitchen doorway, Yaz keeps to the shadows as she peers around the door-frame, eyes widening in surprise and heart-rate quickening at the site which greets her.

Jo is at the hob, as she had been so many weeks ago, blond hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, stray wisps tickling at her neck, poking something around in saucepan, tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. Yaz’s heart melts as it pounds, disseminating its warmth throughout her entire body until her legs feel like jelly, and she holds onto the doorway as she smells the spicy, comforting aroma of pakora.

She does not have to wander about whether this action, of Jo cooking her favourite meal for her, is an act of affection, of stating one’s care and love for another person, for she already knows that it is, and Yaz suddenly feels as if she has surmounted a mountain, come full circle since Jo tried to cook her pakora in her kitchen weeks ago. No trying this time, she is doing it, she is showing Yaz how much she cares.

Yaz pads quietly into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the scene as Jo flips the pakora in the pan, but something must tip Jo off to her presence, a reflection caught in one of the windows, perhaps, and she jumps, turning to Yaz in surprise, just as she had that first time.

“Yaz!”

The pakora perched on the end of her spatula goes flying with her sudden motion, but this time, instead of hitting the island counter with a splat, Jo’s reflexes kick in and she catches it in her hand.

It is incredibly smooth. Until…

“Ahh, no, that’s hot!” Jo exclaims, hurriedly depositing the pakora back into the pan. She mutters curse words under her breath and Yaz stifles a chuckle, coming over to take the spatula out of her hand and pushing her towards the sink.

“Run it under the cold water for a few minutes.” She directs.

“Agh, why does this always happen when I’m trying to do somethin’ nice?” Jo asks as she runs her burnt hand under the tap, flapping it about under the water.

“It’s endearing.” Yaz reassures her as she flips the pakora. “And also endangering. But I think you’ll survive.”

Jo’s mouth pinches but she does not protest, and after a moment spent with only the sound of the sizzling pan and the spouting water Yaz asks, “So what is this for then?”

“For you.” Jo replies, switching off the tap. She shakes her injured hand, the other one fiddling with her shirt sleeve. “I thought maybe we could have a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Yaz repeats, and Jo nods. Yaz smiles wider. “I’d love that.”

Jo returns her smile with her own, cheeks dimply, lines creasing around her eyes. Just the way Yaz likes her, but her hand continues its anxious fiddling, and Yaz feels herself tense with her own nerves, just a little, underlying. 

This discussion is happening sooner, rather than later, then.

“So, where did you have in mind for this picnic?” Yaz asks Jo.

“Oh, I’ve thought of somewhere.” Jo says. 

* * *

“Right, so, when you said you’d thought of somewhere, I didn’t quite think it would be here.” Yaz says, looking around them at where they are perched on a small tartan blanket in the middle of the bookshop, display tables moved to the sides, door locked. The shop is closed for the afternoon, Grace setting up for the annual Kennock Cove Festival which is taking place the following day; in her visits to the two of them throughout the week Amy has been becoming more and more harried about the whole event, and Jo has squirmed with guilt that she has not been able to help out Grace more. The other woman had waved off her apologies, of course, with her usual motherly nature.

“It’s basically a woodland.” Jo counters to Yaz as she picks at one of the small cakes, provided by Bill’s cooking from earlier in the week. “Besides, it means a lot to me to be here with you. This is where we first met.”

That is true, and as Yaz looks around the small room, she feels as if she is embraced within its comforting familiarity, the dull lighting and the musty smell as comforting as the feel of Jo’s body close to hers, their bodies brushing against each other lightly, hips, hands, knees. Some of her best memories with Jo have occurred in this room, barring the unfortunate attempt at flirting in her first week which Yaz immediately banishes to the corner of her mind, and to be here now, with the woman she loves, sharing in her favourite meal as they sit on the floor together, Yaz comes to realise how far they have come since that very first week. Something settles in her chest and there is a lump in her throat, and Yaz clears her throat, taking a sip from her cup of water.

“It is.” She replies. “Where I first realised that kooky didn’t quite cut it in trying to describe you.”

“Kooky?” Jo says, frowning, the small indent in her brow appearing. “Who called me _kooky?_ ”

“Ryan.” Yaz says with a laugh. “M’not sure he meant it in a good way, although now I think he’d say it as a compliment.”

Ryan’s opinion on Jo has shifted over the weeks as he has come to understand her better, and Yaz knows that he genuinely respects her, understands that where she is odd, she is her own person, where her grief had possibly exacerbated her more peculiar traits, this was to be respected; in a weird way, grief had made Ryan understand Jo better, and given him something to relate to the other woman.

“Kooky.” Jo repeats, playing with the word in her mouth. “Hmm. I think I like ‘eccentric’ better.”

“Pretty sure they’re synonyms, babe.” Yaz counters.

“Yeah, but ‘kooky’ is rough and sharp in your mouth.” Jo says as she stuffs a bit of cake into her mouth. “’Eccentric’ makes me sound like a Victorian scientist who’s just made a miraculous discovery.”

“Oh, yeah?” Yaz says with a cocked eyebrow. “And what discovery have you made?”

“You.” Jo replies without missing a beat. She swallows. “I’ve discovered you.”

“Oh my…” Yaz groans and rolls her eyes, but it is good natured, and Jo has a pleased grin on her face when Yaz looks at her. The grin melts like butter into something softer, and Yaz returns it with her own. “This is very romantic. And eccentric.” She says, gesturing around her to their impromptu picnic in an unconventional woodland. “Sums you up nicely.”

“Thought it’d be fitting for what I want to say to ya.” Jo says, shifting so she is sitting more upright. Her fingers hover over the edges of her sleeves, ready to latch on as nervousness seeps in, but after a moment she shakes herself and instead holds out her hands for Yaz’s, and Yaz holds out a hand, and Jo envelops it in both her own, left hand a little lighter than the right owing to her still sore skin from the pakora incident. Yaz shifts so she is facing Jo more directly.

“Sarah-Jane, she’s been really helpful this week.” Jo begins, licking her lips, eyes on their joined hands. “Helpin’ me work my way through the worst of what happened last week, tryin’ to get me to a place where I can start to look forward.”

Yaz nods, but remains silent, giving Jo the space to find the words she needs to say.

“Properly think ‘bout how to help myself because I… I realise now how stuck in the mud I’ve been. Stuck in my grief, stuck in things I’ve thought about myself for _years._ I thought I were coping with them, but I weren’t, and now…” She sighs, and she plays with Yaz’s fingers in her hands, fidgeting with her digits. “I realise I want to get better, Yaz. I realise that now. And she asked me, Sarah-Jane, what I could focus on as a positive, what has made it all easier to cope with, something to work towards, and I something that would help me, that I want… and, well, I think you know what that is.” She says with a bashful laugh. A conversation in a bath, both naked and bare, still sits sacred in Yaz’s heart; it probably always will.

“Me.” Yaz answers, and Jo nods, eyebrow cocking in her direction.

“Yeah, you.” Jo says with a small smile, her fingers tightening around Yaz. “Because you’re amazing and caring and you’ve never turned your back on me. So brave, so brilliant. I want to cherish and care for you. But I realise there’s things I need to work on if that is going to work, because…” Jo bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks. “I’d thought that just being with you was enough, enough to quell the worse feelings inside of me, but as we’ve seen, that didn’t really work out. I mean, in the end you were the one to help me, you helped me help myself, but I cannot always put that on you. I have to help myself. You make my head feel clearer but obviously, there’s things that run deeper. Maybe even Sarah-Jane won’t be able to help with everything, but… She’s a start. Right?”

“Right.” Yaz says with a smile.

“And I _can’t_ put it all on you. Not all the recovery. Not all the… heavier stuff.” She says with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want to ruin how happy you make me. I almost did, didn’t I? And that’s not fair on either of us. I don’t want to ruin what you really mean to me. What I really want.”

“And what’s that?” Yaz asks, although she already knows the answer.

Jo fumbles, fingers twitching in Yaz’s own, and Yaz takes charge, placing her free hand over both of their conjoined hands.

“Jo, are you saying you’d like to be in a relationship with me?” Yaz asks her, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Err, yes, yeah, I am.” Jo says bashfully, tripping up on her words. “I’m not… I can’t promise It’ll be perfect, or anything, but… I’m working on it, because yes, that’s what I want, Yaz. You.”

“I don’t want perfect.” Yaz replies, and there are tears catching at her eyelashes and she blinks rapidly. “I just want you.”

Jo smiles, a beaming radiance like the sun, similarly teary-eyed she leans forward, capturing Yaz in a kiss that feels like coming home, warm and soft and complimenting their surroundings. When they break apart, they both have the taste of each other’s tears on their tongues.

Jo lets out a long, shaky breath, head bowed as she looks at their joined hands. Yaz reaches up with one of her own and strokes lightly at her cheek with her fingertips. “If you’d have told me this time last year that I would have found someone like you, Yaz… I don’t think I would have believed I could have made room in my heart for anyone but River. But the thing is, it’s like I’ve got two hearts. One for her, and one for you, and they’re both beating.” Jo says, and she untangles on of her hands to put it to her chest, gently tapping at it with her palm. “And they’re not… out of sync. They’re beating together. Harmonious, like.”

“I’ll never have a problem with that second heart, you know.” Yaz says, placing her hand over Jo’s resting on her chest. “Never have done. That won’t change now we’re in a proper relationship.”

Jo shoots her a grateful smile. “I’ve just got to figure out my head a bit. My hearts are there, but my head… I know my grief for River is still going to be there, but I don’t want it to define our everyday. I don’t want you to be constantly in her shadow like that. I want you to have your own sunlight.” She says.

“Have you taken poetry pills or something?” Yaz asks her with a wry smile.

Jo frowns. “No. Is that a thing? Don’t tell me that lady in the village offered them to you. I told you, Yaz, it were just _weed-”_

“No, no, I didn’t mean that. “Yaz says with a laugh, using the hand on Jo’s chest to push her backward softly. “I just meant you’re better with the words than you usually are.”

Jo shrugs. “Maybe it’s because emotion’s met fact? I know I want to be with you. I know I’m going to carry my love and my grief for River. It’s easier to speak it when I see it like that. Although don’t ask me to give you a guided tour of the inside of my brain, a lot of it still don’t make much sense.”

Yaz laughs and leans forwards to capture Jo in another kiss. They linger there for a long moment, in one singular orbit. Yaz and Jo, together, and when they pull apart, they are still joined, by an invisible bond, like constellations in the night sky. There are still earthly matters they need to attend to, however, and now that Jo declared her wants and needs, now it is time for Yaz’s.

“I’ve been thinkin’ myself, actually, ‘bout how we need to figure things out.” She begins. “And I think what I need, what will help us both, is making sure we’re communicating properly.”

Jo nods, looking at Yaz with intense concentration. After a moment her eyes narrow and she says, “Like on phones?”

Yaz lets out a short laugh, head tipping back. “No, babe, I mean like… when we need one another, or when we need some time alone, we need to let each other know.” Yaz knows it is a strange thing to talk of them being alone when they will be hundreds of miles apart, but it is an important aspect of what she is trying to say. “And if we do need one another, we need to tell each other in what capacity. I’ll always be there for you, but I have to know what you’re going to need from me.” Yaz tries to inject a stern quality to her voice, riding on a wave of affection, but she needs to get her point across. “We can’t have a repeat of what happened last week. Or of the car crash. Because I know you were dealing with a lot of emotions then and you didn’t know how to handle it, but now you’re working on that, we need to work on how we both communicate our feelings to each other. Because it is really important to me that you know you don’t have to hide _anything_ from me, but whilst it’s my privilege to carry your burdens with you, I need to know _how_ I can do that.”

Jo nods, and whilst she looks a little unsure of herself, she is following Yaz’s train of logic. “And then, it works the other way as well. With you. We help each other carry our burdens, but we figure out how to carry our own as well.” 

“Yeah. Exactly. Because we know we want to be there for each other, but we need to figure out a way that means we won’t ruin the reason for being there in the first place! We need to look after each other _and_ ourselves.” Yaz reiterates, shaking Jo’s hand in hers as she does.

Jo nods, and lets out a shaky breath, nerves flickering in her eyes. Yaz presses forward. “I’m not expecting this to be something that figures itself out. I know we’ll have to work it out at our own pace. And we’ll make mistakes, but I know we’ll get through them together. It doesn’t even have to be through words that we tell each other what we need. It could be a signal or… well, we’ll figure it out.” She ends lamely with a wave of her hand, making it seem easy. With Clara, Yaz had never considered whether working on communicating wants and needs might have improved their relationship; stuck in a mundane miasma their relationship had fizzled. But Jo… she is worth it all, and Yaz believes it _will_ be easy for them to make their relationship work out, when it is fuelled by the fire of a thousand sparks.

Jo looks relieved at the thought of not having to use words to signal when she wants or needs Yaz’s comfort, and she nods, swallowing thickly, throat bobbing. “We can do this.”

“Of course we can.” Yaz says with a smile, which Jo returns, eyes watery. She sniffs.

“I just… Wish you didn’t have to go.” She admits. “I know you’ve got to, I know and… I want you to have that opportunity, but….”

“No, I know what you mean.” Yaz assures her, tucking a strand of Jo’s hair behind her ear. The other woman suddenly gathers her in a hug, and Yaz makes a small, surprised sound before wrapping her arms around Jo, head tucking into the side of her neck.

“It’ll be easier to be apart knowing we’re not really, are we?” Jo says in her ear, hot breath tickling Yaz’s skin. “We’re not really apart.”

“No.” Yaz agrees. “We’re together.”

“Oh!” Jo pulls back at that, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth slightly as she fumbles for something in her trouser pocket. Yaz watches with bewilderment for a moment before Jo finally pulls something out, something silvery and glinting on a long chain.

Her necklace.

She holds it out to Yaz.

“Could you put it on again?” She asks.

Yaz’s fingers fumble slightly as Jo holds back her hair and twists in a slightly odd position so that Yaz can bring the necklace around her neck and clasp it together, letting it rest against the nape of her neck. Jo turns back to her with a hesitant smile.

“Didn’t think I deserved it no more, but now…”

“Now we’re together.” Yaz asserts, grasping Jo’s hand with her own. “No need to hide. No need to run. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Jo’s tightens her grip on Yaz’s hand back.

 _We’ve got each other’s love,_ Yaz thinks.

And then startles with realisation.

“Oh my god!” She exclaims. “I never said it!”

“Said what?” Jo asks, brow creasing.

“I…” Yaz stutters for a minute, surprising drying her mouth and quickening her heart. “I can’t believe I forgot. Just been thinkin’ it for so long, been knowing it’s felt right for so long, even when I didn’t even know it myself…. I must have forgotten to actually _say_ it.”

“Say _what?”_ Jo asks, voice rising slightly in her confusion.

Yaz licks her lips, shifting a bit so she holds Jo’s hand in one of hers and cups her cheek in the other. She has been searching for the right moment to say these three simple words, obfuscating as other messages of importance have come first, three simple words an underlying chord to their play, always there, but never recognised. And now they come to fore, their tempo rising, the volume increased. Yaz’s heart skips a beat with sudden nerves. They are just words. Three simple words.

Which is when she realises. Three _simple_ words. There is nothing to fear here, no recourse for doubt that the affection might not be returned. No, the tide has risen, and Yaz and Jo have risen with it, together, on the same current. The same pulsing electric current.

“I love you.” Yaz finally says, the words like fizzing water in her mouth.

Jo’s blinks at her with wide eyes for a long moment, and then, her face scrunches up and she says, confused, “And I love you, too. I thought we knew this?”

Yaz frowns slightly. “Yeah, but we haven’t said it yet.”

Jo shuffles forwards, so that her hand cups Yaz’s cheek, mirroring the other woman’s position. Her face is so close to Yaz’s their noses are touching. “You didn’t need to say it.” She says. “You’ve shown it through everything you’ve done.”

Their kiss is like lightning striking the ocean, and it conducts in them their shared electric love, until Yaz feels it travel all the way across her body and down to her toes. Three simple words and the power of the gods behind it. How very legendary of them. How very mythical, surrounded as they are by tales of myths and legends.

But their love is real, no doubts about the fact of the matter. And they in themselves are real, _too._ Two women battling their demons, with each other’s backs, comforted by the fact that facing them is much more easily done when one does not have to hide from the other, when the other will willingly go into battle with them if so needed. To know one another are there. To know each other.

To know _and_ to love.

“Yaz.” Jo says quietly, her name a crackling lightning bolt on her lips. “I love you. There, said it proper for you this time.”

Yaz smiles against the other woman’s lips and presses against the electric current, with no fear of electrocution. 

* * *

The stroll along the harbour front later that evening, the sun having long since dipped, each woman safe from its glare, taking comfort in the stars which rest above them, taking comfort in the deserted quality to Kennock Cove. There is a quality given only by the touch of night’s glare on a place which somehow makes it different than it would be during sunlight hours, and walking along the harbour by the moon’s grace seems more relaxing then it would be during the day. No people, no need to avoid Oscar’s small hut, no need to look at the rocky outlay and dive into memories of leaping after hopes and half-formed visions of something which could be everything. 

The night is theirs, and it gives Jo the confidence to walk around the village and reclaim the space for herself, Yaz’s hand in hers; she has not been out of the cottage once, not since their picnic in the bookshop, and Yaz knows she is feeling nervous about the festival which will be taking place come morning. Throughout the village gazebos have already been constructed, and they line the harbour front, some stacked prepared to be constructed on the beach once they have no threat of being pulled away by the tide. They are both hoping that if she can have this time to stroll around the village now, with no witness, it will make the morning easier.

“We don’t have to go.” Yaz says as they wander along the seafront.

“No, I think I want to.” Jo replies, face thoughtful. “I’ve never been. And neither have you. Plus, if you need to get any last-minute presents for your family, then you can.” She says with a cheeky grin.

“Are you insinuating that I completely forgot to get my sister a present?” Yaz says, although that is entirely true and that, yes, she has forgotten to get something for Sonya. The main problem is that she has not seen anything for Sonya’s taste as of yet.

“No.” Jo says with mock-offence, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. Her face scrunches up as she reconsiders. “Alright, maybe yes.”

“Cheek!” Yaz says and shoves her lightly, Jo sniggering. Yaz sighs. “You are right, though. I’ve got mum Amy’s book, and dad some of that fancy chutney they sold on St Michael’s Mount, but Sonya… They’re going to have a range of stalls, aren’t they?” 

Jo nods. “As far as I know. Grace has got a stall, obviously.”

“Do you want to work on it?” Yaz asks after a moment’s hesitation.

Jo shrugs, fingers twitching within Yaz’s. “It might be nice to talk to people. I like talking to people when it’s ‘bout things I’m interested in. Might have to watch I don’t go off on a tangent ‘bout you, actually.”

Yaz laughs and shakes her head fondly. “You keep on track talkin’ to people, me and Grace will focus on selling the books.”

“You don’t have to help, Yaz. You can have a look around while I’m working.” Jo replies.

“Don’t be silly. I want to spend the time with you.” Yaz asserts, tucking her head onto Jo’s shoulder. They are roughly the same height, Jo only a couple of inches taller than Yaz, and it affords her the ability to sink a kiss onto the top of Yaz’s head as Yaz lets her head rest on the other woman’s shoulder for a moment.

Jo clears her throat. “Sarah-Jane, she thought it might be a good idea for me to make something for the festival. You remember how there’s this tradition to commemorate life and death and all that?”

Yaz nods as she remembers sitting with Jo in Pond’s Pastries, the day after rescuing her from the rocky outlay, being told about the tradition of the Kennock Cove Festival’s commemoration of life and death. _We commemorate and celebrate the lives of a group of lifeguards who lost their lives just off the cove’s coast… at the end of the day anyone who wants to can place their commemoration into the water and return it to the sea. Sort of a healing process thing._

“Whilst they say it’s for the sailors, it’s really for your own reasons, as well.” Jo explains, biting at her bottom lip. “Sarah-Jane, she wants me to make something for River. Not to let go of her, but to let go of the guilt over her death.”

The misplaced guilt.

Yaz nods. “If you want me to help, of course I will.”

Jo shoots her a grateful smile, letting out a long slow breath, hand jittering in Yaz’s, who squeezes it tighter.

“I didn’t kill her.” Jo says with certainty, firmly, and sends the words out into the world.

Yaz does not reply. She does not need to. And then the moment is over, the words disappearing into night air, and they continue their walk.

They come to a stop at the end of the harbour-front, near the jetty, and both their gazes turn upwards towards the sky. It is embroidered with stars which now seem like familiar friends, and their glinting glow is reflected in the water of the ocean, and to Yaz it seems like they are stood in the centre of the universe, amongst those stars, embraced by them. Yaz supposes she is floating on a haze of happiness, as she asks with wonder staring up at the stars above them, “You ever wonder if the stars have souls?” Yaz asks her.

“Err, hate to break it you ya Yaz, but they don’t.” Jo replies, and Yaz goes to sigh and shake her head at Jo’s obliviousness, but when she looks at the other woman she sees a soft smile on her face as she looks at Yaz, the stars reflected in her eyes. “But I know what you mean. Sometimes…” She says with a sigh, and her eyes turn skywards. “I wonder if she’s up there looking down. I’ve thought she was in the sun for a long time, because she burned just as brightly, but I kept getting burnt.” She says with a light laugh laced with sadness, but as she gazes up at those stars in the sky her eyes are dry and clear and she is the most beautiful sight out of all that surrounds them, to Yaz. “This glow is a lot nicer. And she’d have loved that, to travel amongst the stars. I prefer to see her in these stars.”

Yaz drags her eyes away from Jo, to witness with her the comfort of the universe that surrounds them, which reassures them of where they are, who they are, and that, in the end, they will always be guided by starlight. Yaz wonders, as she peers up at the stars and the secrets they hold, whether River really does smile back, within that universe, and she sends up a promise to her, shared only between them.

_I will love her and know her. She is yours and mine. And she is not alone anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! See you Sunday!!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	33. Farewell (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love so far, can't believe we're (slowly) nearing the end (I had to update the chapters again lol)
> 
> Enjoy!

Seagulls call above their head, fighting for supremacy above the human voices which swell and build in volume the closer one gets to Kennock Cove’s harbour. People swarm temporary stalls hidden from the sun’s beams by small gazebos as the seagulls swarm the sky above, scanning for any potential food to snatch. Rory does his best to deter them from his and Amy’s small stall outside of their café, pastries and pasties lining the table with appealing invitation, but Yaz cannot help but laugh as she watches the man receive a peck on the arm from one cocky seagull, batting it away with his hand.

“There’s so many people here.” She remarks, and Grace comes to stand next to her, putting a hand up to shield her eyes from the bright midday sky.

“It’s a popular event in the local area.” She replies as they watch the crowds ebb and flow from stall to stall. Mrs Grose is doing her very best to convince a middle-aged woman to buy one of her cakes, and at another stall Yaz sees an elderly woman holding out a bottle of some kind of natural remedy to a young woman; that, she thinks, is most likely Jo’s unintentional weed dealer.

“It’s great.” Yaz says. “Such a sense of community.”

“That there is.” Grace says, and she gives Yaz a kind smile, eyes glinting. “Big family here, we are, love.”

Yaz lets out a sigh. It is invigorating and upsetting in equal parts; reminding Yaz how much she loves this small village now, after two months in its family, and of how she will soon be leaving it for another home. An old home, a home soon to be rewritten in her mind as a place of nurture and growth. She decides to ignore the voice that tells her Kennock Cove is already that place. 

“She’s doing well.” Grace says to her, puling Yaz out of her thoughts, and they both turn to watch Jo talking with a man on the other side of Tardis Books’ stall, hands gesticulating wildly as she takes him through the specifics of some nearby history. “I’m so very proud of the both of you. I know I’m not your grandmother, but I am.”

“I think you’re good enough.” Yaz replies with a fond smile in Grace’s direction. Ryan’s nan, never doubting, always encouraging. “And I think if you considered Jo to be a granddaughter, she would love that, she really would.” 

Yaz gets wrapped up in watching Jo for a long moment, how the sunlight catches at her hair, how the lines of her face are defined by that light, the light curve of her nose, her cheekbones. She is beautiful. The woman Yaz loves.

“Yaz? Yaz, love?” Grace calls her, and Yaz jumps, coming back to herself.

“Sorry, Grace, what was that?” She says bashfully, cheeks tinging pink.

“I said Graham is happy to give you a lift to the station on Monday.” Grace says with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, brilliant, thank you.” Yaz says. Grace places a hand on her arm

“We’ll all be so sorry to see you go, but I am sure this won’t be your one and only visit here?”

“No, no, it definitely won’t be.” Yaz says, eyes flicking over to Jo again, who is still raving madly to the man, who watches her with a slight sense of bewilderment. “We’re going to make it work, her and I.”

“That’s brilliant, love.” Grace says, eyes twinkling, speaking her age, of all she has seen and done and all that she understands about what they have been through. “Both of you were a bit like lost souls, when you got here, but now you’ve found each other.”

Yaz remembers Grace’s advice to her, in that very first week, when she had urged Yaz to simply allow nature to take its course and see where the summer took her. It had pulled her right into the arms of the woman she loves on a wave of affection which had risen with a ferociously fast tide. And Yaz had managed to find herself in swimming those strong, steady strokes to reach Jo, as well. She is a strong swimmer for strong waters.

She pulls Grace into a hug, the other woman making a small sound of surprise, and then delight, her arms wrapping around Grace. “Thank you so much, Grace.”

“S’alright, love.” Grace says, and when each woman pulls back, there are tears in both of their eyes. “Now you keep in touch, alright? ‘Course I can ask Jo. Don’t go through my grandson, useless with telling me things, he is.”

Yaz laughs and nods. “’Course I will.”

“And we’ll be seeing you both later? For the big dinner on the beach?” Grace asks.

Yaz nods. “Yeah, we’ll be there.”

Amy and Rory have organised a small dinner party on the beach once the commemorations to the ocean have been made, for their close friends in the village, and Yaz for one is looking forward to spending some time relaxing with everyone.

“Head’s up, sale coming your way!” Jo calls, and Yaz laughs to see her pointing at the man she has just finished talking to, who is walking towards Grace and her small till set-up, book in hand, slightly shell-shocked expression on his face. Yaz strides over to Jo, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Bit more tact next time, maybe, babe.”

“Oh, right, sorry, bit out ‘a practice.” Jo says with a wince.

“You two can go and have a wander and get some lunch if you want, loves.” Grace says to them from her place by the till, handing the man his change and thanking him with a nod.

“Come on, I’m starving.” Yaz says, pulling Jo after her.

Their necklaces glint in the sunlight as they cross the road to Pond’s Pastries’ stall, Tardis Books’ being set up on the harbour front facing into the village. They are halfway across the road, brimming with pedestrians and closed for traffic, when a voice calls out Yaz’s name.

“Well, if it isn’t PC Khan!” Yaz turns to see Donna striding towards them with a beaming smile on her face, ginger hair down and trailing over her shoulders. She is out of uniform, and she is less intimidating like this, although Yaz’s backs still straightens out of respect. Her arm is linked with that of a black man, who appraises Yaz up and down with calm eyes.

“Sergeant.” Yaz greets as they come to a stop across from each other.

“Oh, call me Donna, please. Not having’ any of that when I’m off duty.” She says, and turns to the man she is with. “This is my husband, Shaun. The man lucky enough to possess my heart.”

“Lucky’s right.” Shaun says sincerely. He holds his hand out and offers it for Yaz to shake. “You must be Yasmin Khan. Donna’s told me all about you. She’s impressed with you, she is. And it takes a lot to impress my Donna.” He turns back to his wife as Yaz shakes his head. “That is a compliment.” He adds with a smile. Donna gives him a wink in response.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Yaz says, and then she turns to Jo, who has been stood by Yaz’s side, a slightly sheepish and uncertain expression on her face. Her hand is gripping Yaz’s tightly. “This is Doctor Joanne Smith. She’s my….” Yaz hesitates. They have agreed between themselves but have yet to put a label on it, not knowing _what_ to call each other, let alone what to introduce themselves as to other people.

“…Mate.” Jo finally replies, holding her hand for Shaun to shake with a close-lipped polite smile. Yaz frowns, and Donna, too, is caught by confusion.

“ _Mate?”_ She asks, and Jo’s steps back a little, looking uncomfortable and unsure. She looks at Yaz, who is looking at her with confusion and amusement, and she bites her lip.

“Err, ummm…” She struggles to think of a response, “Well, because we ermm…”

Luckily for Jo, Yaz’s brain makes a mental link and she exclaims, saving the other woman from exploring futher, “Oh! Sear- Donna, I forgot to tell you! We met your grandad in Penzance.”

“What, gramps?” Donna says, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Wilf?” Shaun asks, and Yaz nods. Jo, grateful for the change of subject, latches on like a limpet.

“Yes! Wilf! Brilliant he was! You can tell someone’s brilliant when they’re interested in space. I’m sending him some articles!” She proclaims, and Donna’s eyes go even wider.

“Did he show you his telescope?” She asks with a knowing tone, and when Jo nods Donna sighs and rolls her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? Can’t know people ten minutes without showing them his telescope. Well,” She says with a sigh, flicking her hair behind her shoulder with a flick of the wrist. “If you get gramps’s stamp of approval that makes me even more sure. You sure you can’t stay down here, Yaz?”

Yaz lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ve been offered the promotion in Sheffield, it’s…” She trails off, shrugging, but Donna is nodding, no matter how disappointed she looks.

“I get it. Shame, though. Would’ve been nice to work with you. Never met anyone so brave.” She says, and her eyes flick to Jo and deeper implications are hidden in her tone.

“Neither have I.” Jo replies, and Donna hums approvingly.

“You going to be sergeant, then?” She asks, and Yaz nods. Donna sighs, head tipping to the side. “Imagine how it might have been. You sergeant, me inspector… Inspector Noble, fancy that, I do…”

“Amazing.” Shaun chimes in as she looks at his wife with soft affection.

“I’m sorry.” Yaz says, and means it, stomach twisting with guilt and sadness.

Donna tuts and waves away her apology with the flick of a hand. “You’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t worry about me, I’ll get inspector someday, one way or another.” Donna says, waving her hand in dismissal. “Well, it was lovely to see you both. In better circumstances this time.” She adds. Jo summons a weak and wobbling smile, and Donna appraises them both with a kind eye. “Can see why gramps likes you. He’ll be inviting himself up here soon enough.”

“I would really like that.” Jo says sincerely, and Donna is momentarily taken aback, but soon enough she is nodding her head in respect, and she gives Jo a warm smile which melts like the honey colour of her hair. Yaz feels Jo’s hand in hers relax its tight grip.

“Good luck, Yaz.” Donna says. “And let me know if you change your mind.”

Yaz gives her a polite smile in return, and with a wave from Shaun, Donna and her husband have turned their backs and are strolling along the harbour front in the opposite direction. Yaz watches her go with the strange sense of something that might have been, like the expectation of a taste on her tongue, but she shakes herself and turns to Jo as they begin to walk towards the Pond’s stall.

“Mate?” She questions the other woman, amusement lifting her tone.

“Sorry, I got nervous. Knowin’ she was there when…” Jo explains, trailing off, nose scrunched up. Yaz makes an ‘ahh’ sound, and pats Jo’s arms with her spare hand.

“I wouldn’t worry. I think she liked you the moment you began singing the praises of her grandad.”

“He is brilliant, though.” Jo says with fondness. “And I really would like it if he visited here.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Yaz says to her as they reach Pond’s Pastries’ stall. An aggrieved looking Rory greets them, rubbing his arm.

“Hey, guys. If you’re after some lunch, Amy’s just-” Rory begins, but is interrupted when a ginger whirlwind in the form of Amy Pond comes bursting through the open doorway of the café, brandishing two trays piled high with baked goods.

“Move out my way, very heavy, very hot trays coming through!” She warns, and Rory leaps to the side as she places the trays down on the table with a flourish, Jo having to duck as one comes very close to hitting her head. Rory shots her a wary look, and Jo returns it with raised eyebrows and a smirk, both of them used to Amy Pond’s dramatics.

“Oh, pain au chocolat!” Jo exclaims once Amy has set the trays down, and she is about to reach for one when Amy swats her hand away.

“Ah, no more than one for you, Joanne.” She tells her sternly. “I have possibly hundreds of people to feed today, you cannot eat my whole supply.”

“But I’m your best friend!” Jo exclaims, but sighs, shoulders visibly sagging when Amy shakes her head at her. “Fine.” She grumbles. “Don’t know ‘bout hundreds, I’m sure many have gone to Mrs Grose. She’s got the prime spot there on the corner.”

Yaz laughs as Amy gasps, her eyes narrowing as she seethes on the spot, looking like a kettle that has just boiled. “That old bat… Well I hope they all like dandruff in their lunch. And she’s not going to be serving hundreds.” She says, swatting Jo’s arm, but the action is good-natured, and when Jo playfully mirrors Rory’s action of rubbing her arm, Amy places her own hand over Jo’s own a moment later and smiles with the other woman.

“Erm, actual wounded person right here.” Rory says gruffly, and Amy twists to look at him, appraising him before she hums and turns back to Jo.

“Nothing serious.”

Rory huffs and shrugs, turning to Yaz to appeal to her, but Yaz raises her arms in surrender. “I’m staying out of it.”

The sudden sound of shouting, and then a smattering of laughter from a crowd fills the air, and Yaz peers through a sea of heads to two stalls down to the lifeboat station. The lifeboat is stood proudly just outside of the station, orange nose pointing straight to the sea, and a crowd watches as Jack, along with a weary looking Martha, who is perched on the side of the boat, as if it were at sea, demonstrate a rescue mission to their audience. Jack has his hands grabbing someone who is posing as a sea-stricken victim in need of rescuing, and a laugh builds in her chest as she sees a red-faced looking Graham being man-handled over the side of the boat by Jack pulling on his lifejacket.

“Cor, blimey, mind me nut!” He cries, legs flying into the air before Jack pulls him successfully fully into the lifeboat. The audience claps, and Jack gives them a mock bow. Something brushes Yaz’s shoulder and she turns to see Jo also watching the display, pain au chocolat in one hand and a pasty for Yaz.

“It’s halal.” She says with a smile as Yaz takes the pasty from her.

“Come on, I want to see this.” She says, and they edge nearer, keeping to the edge of the crowd.

Graham is taking his turn to bow to the crowd, and Yaz eagerly woops and claps for him, pasty resting in the crook of her arm against her chest, as he waves his hand before turning and, looking a bit flustered, accepting Ryan’s outstretched arm to clamber from the boat, patting his grandson on the shoulder in thanks once his feet are on the pavement. 

“That is not what I had in mind when you said you needed a hand with the lifeboat display, my son.” He tells Ryan as he unclips his lifejacket. “But ‘cor if that bloke don’t have some arms on him.”

“Watch it, silver fox, or I’ll use you to demonstrate my next trick.” Jack warns, and his eyes skate over the crowd, resting for a moment on Yaz and Jo. _Oh no,_ Yaz thinks, but Jack winks and instead leaps out of the boat, turning behind him to focus on Ryan.

“The next move I would like to demonstrate to you, my avid fans,” He begins, and Jo groans and rolls her eyes next to Yaz, “is the fireman’s lift. Don’t get to use this one very much, but it’s the best way to carry someone without significant injury if you want to get them out of the water. Ryan, if you would be so kind?”

“What?” Ryan asks as Jack pulls him around to in front of the boat. “Mate, nah, I don’t think this is for me… no, wait!”

But it is too late, and Jack has Ryan up and over his shoulder in a matter of seconds. The crowd applauds with fervour, and Yaz finds herself with uncontrollable giggles as Ryan struggles a little bit, arms flailing, until eventually he gives up and begrudgingly lets Jack hold him there, face like thunder.

“There’s nothin’ going on with them, is there?” Jo asks her, hair tickling Yaz’s cheek as she leans in to talk over the sound of the crowd. “Feel a bit out of the loop.”

“Not that I know of…” Yaz says, but there is something in her that thinks there might possibly be something. “Don’t know how long Ryan’s going to be down here…”

“Oh, Ryan’s got a contract with a firm in Padstow.” Graham interrupts, hands shoved in his pockets as he steps towards them. “Yeah, starts in a couple of weeks. Grace is relieved, I think, to have him around.”

“That’s fantastic!” Yaz exclaims. She will have to find a time to talk to Ryan this evening; she feels slightly guilty that she has been so preoccupied she has not had much time to talk to him about himself recently. “So, does that mean…?” She asks, pointing at Ryan and Jack, who still has the other man over his shoulder, Martha looking on with exhaustion at their antics.

“Well, don’t know to be honest with ya, Yaz.” Graham says with a smile, and there is a proud glint in his eyes as he observes his grandson. “But if there is, I would certainly be glad of it. He’s a fine man that captain.”

“Aye, aye.” Jo agrees.

“Right, done my bit, best go see Grace.” Graham says, and he shoots them both a kind smile and then, as if to check no one is listening, checks behind him, before leaning in, beckoning them closer to him. “And then I’m going to fetch my beach chair and sit out there in the sun for three hours with a cocktail. Already got my speedos on!”

Yaz shoots him a slightly bemused smile as he moves off towards the bookshop’s stall, turning to Jo, who bears an equally bewildered expression.

“I… did not want that mental image.” She says, and looks at her pain au chocolat forlornly, as if put off of it now.

“Do you want me to kiss it away?” Yaz asks teasingly, and Jo nods enthusiastically.

“Please.”

They are caught up in a deep, slow kiss when the sound of someone coughing behind them pulls their attention from each other and they turn, both freezing at the sight of who is stood in front of them.

Oscar looks slightly disgusted, and as irritated as ever, as he stands with his hands in his pockets of his tailored trousers, crisp purple shirt on despite the heat, his lip curled slightly as he sighs a heavy, put-upon sigh.

“Joanne, may I speak with you for a moment?” He asks.

“That’s polite of you.” Jo remarks, voice cold, and Yaz does not admit to herself how much glee it fills her with to hear her talk to Oscar like that. “Didn’t think you would ask my preference.”

“Can you- just.” Oscars sighs again, more irritated and pinched. “Just- five minutes of your precious time.”

Jo sighs, biting the inside of her cheek for a moment before she replies. “Fine.” She passes her pastry off to Yaz and gives the other woman an apologetic smile. “Won’t be a moment.”

“Hey.” Yaz calls, and Jo turns back, allowing Yaz to pull her into another kiss. Oscar sighs again, and there is a smug smile on Yaz’s lips as Jo walks away with him, arms crossed defensively over her body.

“Hey!” A voice calls, and Yaz turns to see Bill walking towards her, sunglasses on her face and ice-cream in her hand.

“Hey!” Yaz greets back as Bill comes to a stop next to her, taking a long lick of her dessert. “Sorry I haven’t seen you much today.”

“Nah, s’alright. I’ve been in the pub, talking to one of the barmaids.” Bill says, and she raises her eyebrows. “Her name’s Heather. She’s super great.”

“Oh,” Yaz says, raising her eyebrows back, and both friends descend into giggles.

“Where’s the chosen one?” Bill asks after a moment, and Yaz rolls her eyes at the nickname before pointing to where Jo and Oscar are strolling along the jetty, near to where the end of it dips into the sea. Bill leans forward a bit to look better. “Is that the guy she were snogging outside that club?” Yaz nods. “Wonder what he’s got to say to her.”

“An apology, I hope.” Yaz says. “Not sure he knows what one of those is, though.”

“Well, not sure whether it worked or not, she looks like she’s about to push him.” Bill says, and Yaz turns in surprise just in time to see as Jo does, indeed, give Oscar a shove, and the man topples over the side of the jetty, a sharp spray of water rising up from where he had disappeared seconds later. A woman exclaims, and some of the crowd that is gathered outside the coastguard station’s attention is caught, and they look around with confusion. Bill and Yaz gape at each other in open-mouthed shock for a moment before they both cross the road and hurry over to the jetty, reaching Jo’s side slightly breathless.

“Jo!” Yaz exclaims. “What did you do that for?”

Jo shrugs, looking pleased as she watches a bedraggled and sputtering Oscar swim his way towards the beach. “Bit of seawater should clear his head. Make him see sense.”

“Did he apologise?” Yaz asks her, their pastries long forgotten in her hand, Bill’s ice cream dripping down her hand.

“Yep.” Jo says, popping the ‘p’. “I just think he needed a reminder to treat people with a bit more kindness. A bit more respect.”

Bill lets out an impressive sound, and Yaz’s laughs stutters a little in her throat, but it leaves her mouth full and clear as she watches Oscar pull himself from the water, suit sopping, hair plastered to his forehead, and a face like thunder.

“JOANNE!” He screams. “You’ll pay for that!”

“I’m happy to pay for your dry-cleaning, Oscar, just send me the bill!” Jo calls back, and the man shakes his fist at her. There are many eyes on them, attracted by Oscar’s shouting, but Jo simply shrugs and begins moving back towards the harbour.

“Mate…” Bill says with admiration as she follows Jo and Yaz.

“S’alright, I knew he wouldn’t get hurt.” Jo says. “Amy’s done it before.”

“That were fantastic.” Yaz says in Jo’s ear as they reach the harbour, both of them ignoring the crowd which watches them.

“Really?” Jo says, turning to her with a hesitant smile.

“I mean, I’m not going to condone you doing that every time he’s a dick to ya, but I’ll accept it this time.” Yaz says, and Jo grins, pleased. 

* * *

When evening begins to creep in, a bell is rung from the pub on the seafront, and everyone is encouraged down onto the beach if they have a commemoration to give to the sea. The larger crowds have died down by this point, only a few stragglers who are keen to watch the tradition and have stuck it out until the end of the day remain, and the majority of those who work their way down to the beach are villagers, most whose faces are now familiar to Yaz after her two months living among them.

Grace and Graham walk hand in hand down towards the tide, Grace holding a bunch of flowers in one hand. Theirs is a celebration for their new life, the gift of life given to Graham after all he had been through, Grace had told Yaz. Amy and Rory follow soon after, twisted vines and sunflowers forming a crown-like commemoration, their own remembrance for River, and a celebration of each other. And then there is Yaz and Jo, who stand on the harbourfront, hand in hand. In Jo’s other hand, she clasps a circular sequence of reeds pulled from the river in the dell plaited together in a simple pattern, but effective, nonetheless. They had not had much time to construct the commemoration that morning but pulling the reeds from the River had felt symbolic enough, and Jo had shot Yaz a pleased smile, shot through with a strange sort of relief, once they had finished. She had offered they make one for Yaz, to send off the heavy feelings which had made her doubt herself for so long, but Yaz had assured her that it was enough for her to have faced them head on; she had not lost her faith in herself forever, only it had been buried for a while.

Jo lets out a low, shaky breath, and Yaz tightens her hold, letting their arms brush against each other. “Take your time.”

Jo nods, swallowing thickly. “This is for her.”

“For her.” Yaz repeats. “For River.”

“For River.” Jo repeats, voice shaking, and with a nod she leads them both forward towards the tide.

The water is cold, this is Cornwall, after all, despite it being summer with the sun beating down on them all day, and Yaz shivers as their feet are caressed by the tide as it glides in towards the beach, and then slowly drags itself out again as if reluctant to make the effort. All along the beach, people, in pairs, small groups, or simply alone, are carefully surrendering their commemorations to its pull, and Yaz catches sight of Grace and Graham watching theirs as it gently bobs out into the ocean.

Beside her, Jo straightens her shoulders, eyes fluttering closed as she lets her head tip back. She is muttering something under her breath, something so quiet Yaz cannot hear over the wash of the ocean, but she does not try to hear it, does not ask, simply turns her own face upwards as well, a silent support for the other woman.

There is salt water around their feet and on Jo’s face as she blinks her eyes open after a few minutes, and when she does her eyes are bright, glinting in the sunlight. Her movements are uncharacteristically careful, reverent, as she bends down and lays the wreath on the incoming tide, and it moves away from her as the tide drags itself out as Jo moves to stand up again, and at that moment the movement of Jo’s body causes her necklace to catch the light, and it seems then as if the beauty of the sunlight is transferred to Jo, and as she makes the first steps in letting go, River is given to the ocean and the stars.

“Where the river meets the ocean.” She mutters with a sniff, and Yaz raises their joined hands and bends slightly to press a kiss against Jo’s knuckles. Jo smiles, and moves her free hand to her chest, rubbing over where her heart beats below. “Running through my heart.”

Yaz could swear then that in a sky which is tipping towards twilight, a lone star glints down on them, calling back to the glint of Jo’s necklace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Also, I've curated a spotify playlist to go alongside this story!! It just started as songs for me to listen to whilst i wrote but i wanted to share it with you now to listen to whilst you read or whatever! The general genre is folk-like sounds, some happy, some sad, some with lyrics I felt fit really nice, some with ones that don't quite but have the feeling of certain parts and i really liked! so, I'll link it just below! See your Thursday!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mRx7MOfPrExgIB3dyBY7H?si=547Ir5wfRoeCSVe4zQ3WOg
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	34. Farewell (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene of this is one of my favourites.... I hope you enjoy this chapter 😊
> 
> Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mRx7MOfPrExgIB3dyBY7H?si=547Ir5wfRoeCSVe4zQ3WOg

Cars and vans trundle up the main road out of Kennock Cove as the festival comes to an end, vendors packing away, visitors departing, and a hazy lull descending over the village in the summer evening.

Yaz and Jo sit side by side at their place at the two tables pulled together and dragged down from the festival onto the beach, full plates of food in front of them and bubbling chatter surrounding them. Amy and Rory sit directly opposite them, and next to them is Jack and Ryan, with Martha sat at the head of the table, and finally grace and Graham sit on Yaz’s left. Bill had been invited, but with a wink she had proclaimed a date with the barmaid, Heather, and Yaz had made a mental note to text her before they returned to the cottage to know whether they should stay downstairs for a while if the evening with Heather was a success. Small tealights glow on the table in between the plates of food, and Yaz feels so at ease, so comfortable sitting with these people she has grown to know, and who have grown to know her.

Jo had been a little nervous as they had strolled hand in hand back down to harbour after heading back to Yaz’s cottage to have a breather together in stillness, soaking in the moment, the emotion, of the commemoration.

“You okay?” Yaz had asked her.

“Yeah. Just… haven’t been with everyone together _since…_ ” Jo had replied, tone heavy with implication. And then she had laughed self-depreciatingly. “S’silly, I know, but…”

“S’not silly.” Yaz had reassured her. “But no one’s judging you. “

“No, I know…” Jo replied. “Just… Can I hold your hand?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” Yaz had said with a confident nod. Communicating needs. Good. Already it was easy, as she never doubted it would be, and she had smiled and raised their joined hands, giving them a shake. “You already are.” 

Jo had smiled back, her nose scrunching up, and then her silly expression had faded, and a smile as warm as a hearth on a cold winter’s night had replaced it as she had looked at Yaz with melting molten coal in her eyes. “I love you, Yasmin Khan.”

“And I love _you,_ Joanne Smith.” Yaz had replied, as simple as that.

Because it really was easy now, for them to love each other.

However, as she sits here, surrounded by the people who have made her feel so at home, Yaz feels a twinge of sadness as time ticks on and her departure draws nearer. Like Jo had said, they will not really be apart, even when they are separated by space, but there is something else bugging at Yaz, that were she not so committed to her newfound resolve to return to Sheffield and make it work for _her,_ she would acknowledge here, surrounded by a familial hubbub of noises.

She does not, however, and simply tucks into her meal and relishes the feel of Jo’s thigh brushing against hers, the hands they have clasped together under the table.

As the evening tips towards twilight, Jack clears his throat, and taps his fork against the side of his glass, hushing everyone around the table. They all turn, and he shoots a characteristically cheeky grin and get to his feet.

“I’d like to propose a toast.” He begins, holding his glass of cider in his right hand. “To someone who we’ve all come to love and appreciate. Some more than others.” He says, and shoots a wink in Jo’s direction, who groans under her breath, tutting.

“Someone who we all agree is as brave as she is selfless.” Jack continues, and something begins to twist in Yaz’s stomach as suspicion builds as to who he is talking about. “Who has become a part of our small family here, and who, whilst we are very sad to see her go, we want to let know that she will always have a place here. A family. And I gotta say, I want you to come back so I can nab you for my coastguard team, but I just know you’re gonna blow ‘em away in Sheffield.” He finishes, and Yaz’s stomach drops and her heart lurches in her chest as he raises his glass and turns to look directly at her. “To Yaz!”

Everyone stands, Jo unlinking her hand from Yaz’s as she joins them, and they all pick up their glasses and raise them to her. Yaz blinks around at her friends- no, her _family,_ as they raise their glasses and all of them chime, “To Yaz!” 

And quite embarrassingly, Yaz feels tears sting her eyes and blot her cheeks, and she dips her head to hide them.

“Aw, Yaz, mate, we didn’t mean to make you cry!” Ryan says, and Yaz can feel all their expressions turn concerned, and she waves it away as she gulps in a breath. Jo sits abruptly down next to her and places her hand over Yaz’s, head ducking to meet Yaz’s eye, concern written all over her face.

“Sorry.” Yaz says, blinking away her tears. She raises her head and smiles to let them all know that these are tears of gratefulness, of being overcome with how _appreciated_ she feels. This place… these people… they have made her feel so happy, so full, and now she feels like they see her, Yasmin Khan, as someone to respect and admire. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. All of you.”

“No. Thank _you,_ Yaz.” Amy says, eyes fierce and fiery as ever and Yaz finds that comforting and laughs at the thought. Rory calls a short ‘here, here’ after his wife, and the sight of the two of them together, the couple who never once doubted Yaz, and never once scorned her for falling for their best friend, has something warm cracking and filling her insides like an egg yolk.

“Yaz! Yaz! Yaz!” Ryan calls and cheers, and Jack joins in, the two men whooping and clapping, and then Graham is putting down his drink and clapping with them, beaming and proud, and Yaz remembers the warmth in his eyes as she had talked with her about Grace all those weeks ago, in the bus to Wadebridge, how he had inadvertently been the spark of Yaz’s realising that the electricity Yaz had felt for Jo had been love, even if she did not know it then. Grace stands by his side, a warm smile melting like honey on her face, her calm presence as grounding as the firmest cliff face. 

And then there is Martha, and although Yaz does not know her very well, her presence has never wavered, her surety never faltering, and she has been invaluable in the last week; Yaz is suddenly sorry she does not know her better.

All of these people. These brilliant people.

And now Yaz is leaving.

But, as Jack had said, she will always have a home here. And she will always have a heart here, too. Not only in Jo, although of course that is the most precious and sacred heart of all, but in Kennock Cove itself, for all it has done for her, the village and its inhabitants.

A newfound home.

The fire of affection for Kennock Cove is too much when the rekindled fire of her passion for Sheffield are slowly being stoked back into life, and Yaz pushes away those thoughts and pulls herself back together, straightening and letting out a laugh which catches the tail end of her emotion, her breath catching in her throat.

“Alright, I can’t take much more of this or my head will swell ten times bigger!” She tries to joke, waving away her applause. “Seriously, too much spillin’ emotion! I’m a Yorkshire woman for goodness sake!”

Everyone laughs, and with one last whoop Ryan ends his applause, punching the air for his best friend, rounding the table to pull her in for a rough hug. Once he has pulled away, Jo pulls her into her side with an arm around her shoulders.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” Yaz assures her. “Just… Feel like the luckiest person alive to have come ‘ere.”

“I think we’ve all been lucky, Yaz, to meet you.” Jo replies with heartfelt sincerity as deep as the ocean floor, and the emotion and the gratitude from the people who surround her sinks deep into Yaz’s heart and carves a place there that will never fade. She will always hold this place and these people close now, she is sure of it, and she does not think she has ever felt so whole. 

* * *

Yaz and Jo enter the cottage with caution, creeping in, Yaz putting a finger to her lips to shush them both as they fight against giggles, ears pricking as she listens out for any sounds from upstairs. Silence rings in the house, and Yaz nods, moving her finger and using it to beckon Jo into the house.

“Think the coast’s clear.” She says as Jo shuts the door behind them. Bill must still be out with Heather, or at wherever she lives. Yaz cannot deny she is rather relieved; there are some things she does not want to have to try and not overhear.

“Thank goodness for that.” Jo says with a sigh, leaning back against the hallway wall as she steadies her breathing. She looks at Yaz with hooded eyes, shadows casting her face in a gloomy glow, but her pupils are bright as she blinks at Yaz, and her smile cuts through the darkness and lends a softness to its edges.

“Yaz…” She says, the name caught between a statement and a question, an unsaid implication lacing her tone. Yaz feels her heart rate pick up as she takes the hand Jo holds out for her, lacing their fingers together. “Yaz, do you want to….?”

“Are you sure?” Yaz asks, her breath catching a little in her throat as she steps closer, so close their noses are almost touching. Jo’s eyes are piercing with an intensity that cuts through Yaz and sends a heat straight through her middle, an intensity of longing and love and lust. The past week has been filled with the soft care of providing presence and comfort, and no thoughts of an intimacy have crossed Yaz’s mind as her attentions had been directed towards helping Jo through the worst of the storm. But now, if Jo is willing, Yaz will not say no to this intimacy, and her breath stutters, heart fluttering in her chest at the prospect of this being the first time since they have committed their love and lives; Yaz wants to cherish Jo, she wants to gather that wholeness she had felt at the dinner and direct it towards the woman she loves.

“I’m sure.” Jo says with certainty, and her fingers trace Yaz’s jaw, sending through Yaz’s whole body. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Yaz says, rushed as she presses her lips to Jo’s and sinks into the other woman’s warmth.

Hands move frantically as lips and teeth crash together. Shoes are kicked off and they are stumbling upstairs, Jo yelping against Yaz’s mouth as she nearly trips, and Yaz steadies her, taking a moment just to breathe.

“We need to slow down.” She says, chest heaving. “Come on.”

She takes Jo’s hand and guides the other woman up the stairs and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Her suitcase lays open on the floor in the middle of the room, half-packed, and both woman’s eyes linger on that sight for a moment before Jo twists into Yaz’s side and presses soft kisses against her neck before simply letting her face rest there, nose nudging the underside of Yaz’s jaw. Yaz brings a hand up and runs it over Jo’s back, shivering with sensation. With emotion.

“Let’s make the most of it, yeah?” She says, and Jo nods, pulling back enough to look Yaz in the eyes, fingertips drifting down Yaz’s arms.

“Hard to slow down when I know time’s against us.” She says with a bashful laugh.

“No, I know.” Yaz agrees, smiling sheepishly herself. “But if meaningful means slow, I’d prefer that any day.”

“Quality over quantity.” Jo quips.

“Oh, don’t doubt that I can provide quality in quantity.” Yaz says, barely recognising her own voice, her own confidence. Yet it feels so right with Jo. Multitudes, indeed.

She is not the same woman she was when she was with Clara, and this, what they are doing now, is no longer an act which ticks a box of requirement in a relationship. No, this is another way to expression their affection, their adoration; action has been another language for them, and this is the most tender of actions. Yaz has never had something so intimate be so intimately fulfilling.

She feels whole. Unlimited. Loved beyond words. 

“I never doubt you, Yaz.” Jo replies, her tone laced with excitement, and Yaz pulls her close into a another earth-shattering kiss which feels like the crash of waves against the rocks, the pull of the tide to the shore, the most natural movement of two souls bound together.

Clothes are removed, and trailing touches travel the span of skin, trace constellations in freckles and moles, making sense of their arbitrary pattern, as if they are both saying: _we were made for each other. We know and love each other._

Yaz has never known love like this, and was never meant to until that moment, she realises, for she could not imagine this night being as meaningful and fulfilling as it is had they not walked a long road worth travelling to learn to love and know each other in a way which will withstand any storm. 

* * *

Yaz tucks her books carefully into the pocket compartment of her suitcase, her mum’s signed copy of Amy’s book safely stowed between two shirts so as to prevent it from being battered about inside the case, and lets out a long sigh, leaning back on her heels. She hates packing, and this time it comes with further implications.

A churlish, childish irritation rises in her that she does not _want_ to leave this place, these people, one certain person, as the moment of departure has finally come, but it is no good, she cannot give into that. How have two months flown by so quickly, and yet felt like a whole other lifetime? A new life, and this is just the beginning.

This is not ‘goodbye’, she realises. This is ‘hello’.

There is a soft knock on the door, and Jo’s head pokes around, hair draping her shoulders. “Graham’s here.”

And there she is, the woman who has created with Yaz this new life for them both; this is certainly not a goodbye to Jo, for everything now has been the prologue to their tale. It is not coming to an end, it is flourishing in the very beginnings, and Yaz is keen to put pen to paper once more and write years’ worth of adventures and feelings into the story of them. She is ready.

“Right.” She says, and she raises herself to her feet, dragging her suitcase behind her, hitching her backpack onto her shoulder.

She pauses at the door and turns to look one more time at the room, still as crisp and as pristine as it had been the day she arrived, and yet memories have been made which stain the whiteness with their ink, blotting it irreparably in Yaz’s mind. She closes the door behind her with a smile on her face.

“I’ve calculated the length of your journey depending on the weather, and I’ve checked the train times and service updates, and it looks like it’s gonna be taking you ‘bout seven hours all told, Yaz.” Jo tells her as they trudge down the stairs. “So, Amy’s got some pastries for you, including that pasty you like and a pain au chocolat to remind you of me.” She says with a cheeky grin as they reach the hallway. Yaz sets the suitcase on the floor. Jo continues to blabber on. “And there’s water, a flask of tea, also, I made you some soup as well because Grace had one of those thermos and I thought you might want that if you didn’t fancy the pastries.”

“Jo-” Yaz tries to interrupt her, but to no avail.

“I know it can be quite annoying to eat a heavy meal on the train when you’re sat for hours, so I thought that might be a nice alternative. It’s tomato, so it’s halal for you, and I also packed you some custard creams because I could sacrifice a packet. It’s alright, I’ve still got four others.”

“Jo.” Yaz says with a light laugh as the other woman finally stops, putting her hands on her hips as they stand facing each other in the hallway. Jo lets out a long breath which pushes some of the hair from in front of her face out of the way.

“Sorry, it’s because I’m nervous. You know that, I told you, because we’re working on the whole good communication thing. I just…” She deflates, and the bravado, the goofiness disappears and Yaz sees the sadness. “Can’t believe you’ve got to go. Can’t believe it’s finally come.”

“I know.” Yaz agrees, and she drops her backpack from her shoulder to pull Jo into a hug. “It feels weird, but I was just thinking… this is only the beginning, yeah? We’re starting a new chapter.”

Jo nods into her shoulder, hands tracing random patterns on Yaz’s back through her leather jacket. “I’ve had a lot of those. New chapters in my life. I think we can make this one a good one.”

“A brilliant one.” Yaz says, pulling back just enough to look Jo in the eyes, arms wrapped around the other woman’s neck. Jo’s hands rest on Yaz’s lower back.

“A _fantastic_ one!” Jo replies, and both women smile before pulling each other into a deep kiss.

“I’ll text when I’m on the train at the station.” Yaz tells her as they simply make the most of soaking in each other’s physical presence. Jo had asked whether Yaz wanted her to come with her and Graham on the journey to the station in Bodmin, where she will catch her first train connection back to Sheffield, but had admitted, when Yaz had reminded her of their promise, that being in the bus might be too soon for her, and Yaz had assured her that was, of course, alright. They’ll just have to say goodbye now, here in the hallway, on the precipice of the cottage, on the precipice of a new chapter in their relationship. A _proper_ relationship.

“And then continue to text you when I’m bored on the journey up.” Yaz jokes, and then adds, fingers twisting into Jo’s hair, running through blonde strands. “Girlfriend.”

“What about the books, girlfriend?” Jo replies, raising her eyebrows. Jo is right; Yaz has packed a couple of the books she bought into her backpack to read on the train. However…

“My mind is going to be preoccupied with you.” Yaz replies. Jo screws her nose up.

“Ew. Sap.”

“You’re a sap, too!” Yaz replies with mock-indignation. She uncurls one of her hands from Yaz’s hair and touches it to her necklace instead. “What do you call this?”

“A necklace.” Jo replies, but Yaz can tell she is being purposefully obtuse. “Because I really, _really_ like you.”

“Oh, you really, _really_ like me?” Yaz says, cocking an eyebrow as she nudges their lips together, deep diving into each other. It feels like the last exploration of the seafloor, the capturing of that final precious pearl before they must return to the surface.

When they break apart, the breath shudders out of Jo and against Yaz’s lips she whispers, reverently, “I love you so much. My brilliant Yaz.”

“I love you, too.” Yaz replies, her own voice quivering and she knows they should break apart now before it becomes even harder. “I… I can’t even put into words how glad I am to have met you.”

“Me neither, but we both knew that already.” Jo says, and laughs as Yaz giggles, head tipping back. The expression on her face is more sincere when Yaz looks back at her. “But seriously, Yaz, you’re… more than I could ever have imagined. The universe wouldn’t be the same without you. And neither will Kennock Cove, but…”

“I’ve got to do this.” Yaz says, the words sticky in her mouth.

“You’ve got to do this.” Jo affirms and presses her lips to Yaz’s again for another kiss. 

There is a knock at the door, short and sharp. “Yaz, love!” Graham calls.

“Coming Graham!” She calls, picking up her backpack and hoisting it onto her shoulder again. Jo takes her suitcase. 

“You going to be alright going back to the flat today?” Yaz asks.

Jo nods, letting out a sigh. “I think so, now that Amy’s cleared all that stuff away.”

Jo is referring to the papers that Yaz had found in that nightmarish week; Amy had made short work of gathering them all together and putting them somewhere only she knows, and it does make Yaz feel better to know that Jo will not be returning to an empty flat which holds painful memories. At least Grace will be in the bookshop below, and now, Yaz is reassured that if anything is wrong, Jo _will_ reach out to her if needed. That is a promise.

Yaz nods. “And then we can arrange a time to look at cottages over Skype.”

Jo had brought up the prospect of buying her own cottage in the village the day before, when she and Yaz had been caught in a lazy haze in bed. It was another step, another change towards positive betterment, and Yaz had encouraged it with all her heart, wanting beyond anything to see Jo out of the storage room flat and somewhere she could really make her mark, stop living beside cardboard boxes. The flat had been the cosy, secluded beginning of their friendship, but things have evolved, and it is time for something new.

Graham knocks on the door again. “Yaz! You’ll miss your train, cockle!”

“You’ve really got to go.” Jo says to her with a small smile.

“I’ve really got to go.” Yaz sighs, and she presses her lips to Jo’s for one last kiss, to carry her through the journey, and one last embrace, slightly clunky owing to her bags, but they are good at managing each other’s baggage. She pulls back before she sinks too deep, static energy between them demanding they immediately come back together again but no- they need to leave now else Yaz will miss her train; and they need to come apart now lest Yaz never leave Jo’s side again.

Yaz pulls open the door and steps out into brilliant sunshine; Kennock Cove is there in its full glory to bide her farewell. The smell of wisteria hits her nostrils, as it had that very first day; the waves bob calmly and the sun sits peacefully, no threat in their presence. The sky is azure, a cut glass crystal. Yaz wonders what colour the sky is in Sheffield.

“See you then, mate!” Bill says to her as she pushes herself off from where she had been leaning against the outside wall. She is staying on for a little while to clean the cottage and take some time for herself. As Graham takes Yaz’s backpack from her Bill pulls her into a hug, swaying them back and forth. “Text me when you’re there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yaz says as they break apart. “And let me know if I’ve accidentally left something. “

Bill smirks, eyes bright with mischief. “Don’t worry, if I find any of your sex toys I won’t tell.”

Yaz smacks her arm lightly. “You’re a tosspot.”

Bill raises her eyebrows and shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do?’, and Yaz gives her one last mock-aggrieved look before she turns to face Graham and his minibus. A figure awaits her, and Yaz blinks in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” She asks as Amy steps towards her, hands in the pockets of her shorts.

“What? You thought I wasn’t going to come and wave you off?” She replies, eyebrows raised. Yaz falters for a second but before she knows it Amy is pulling her into a tight hug, the scent of her perfume filling Yaz’s nostrils with sweet floral scent. “I’ve said it before, but thank you Yaz. For every single thing you’ve done for her. For us.”

Yaz’s throat tightens, and she tightens her own hold on Amy. “It’s been a privilege. She means everything to me.” She replies, and Amy groans into her shoulder, letting her go, and Yaz stumbles backwards.

“Right, that’s enough, get on that bus right now or I really will kiss you.” Amy threatens, and Yaz raises her arms in mock surrender and nods.

“Come on, love.” Graham says, climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed behind him. Yaz sighs, and turns once more to Jo.

The other woman is squinting slightly in the bright light, but there is a rosy tint to her cheeks and her blonde hair radiates a glow like sun beams. Yaz will carry that image, along with the feeling of their last kiss, with her all the way back to Sheffield and keep them there, locked in a treasure chest in her heart.

“I’ll text you.” She says, and Jo nods.

“Have a good drive.” She says, and Amy comes over to her, putting an arm around her shoulders, nodding to Yaz as if to say ‘ _Go on, she’s with me. You both hate goodbyes, don’t draw it out any longer.’_

Yaz climbs into the passenger’s side of the bus, shutting the door behind her. Strapping herself in, she takes one last look at the cottage in front of her, its white walls radiant in the sunlight, and thanks it for her stay, the building which has seen her through rocky storms and into calm waters.

As Graham starts the engine and reverses the minibus round until its nose is facing down the path and away from the cottage, Yaz has one last glimpse of Jo, in Amy’s embrace but with her shoulders relaxed, head held high, waving the bus off, before she is being driven away from the cottage, away from Kennock Cove, and away from the woman she loves.

“You alright, cockle?” Graham asks her as they trundle along, the puttering of the engine accompanying them as he pulls out onto the main road and up the long winding hill away from the village.

Yaz shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Difficult, I know, saying goodbye to all this. To err, well, to Jo.” Graham says, eyes flicking over to her every now and again. “But, from what I can see and from what I know, Yaz, you’re on of the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

Yaz is taken aback with shock, and is spreads throughout her until her whole body tingles.

“I don’t know the whole story, but Grace has told me enough, and you seem so capable, always fighting…” Graham continues. “I know I’d be proud, if you were my granddaughter.”

Tears prick at Yaz’s eyes and she swallows, dipping her head a bit to wipe them before they fall. Graham must notice, as he fumbles, head twisting back between her and the road quite frantically. “Oh, oh no, did I say the wrong thing? I didn’t mean to make you cry, love…”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Yaz reassures him, and she gives him a watery smile. “That’s just… one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.” And so unexpected, coming from Graham, who she has not spent that much time with but has always gotten nothing but good vibes from. “Thank you, Graham.”

Graham shoots her a relieved smile. “Nothing to it, cockle.”

There might be nothing to it for Graham, but it means everything to Yaz, and a full heart will carry her all the way back to Sheffield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm very excited for the next chapter.... It's not over yet!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	35. Sunrise (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has one of the first scenes I thought up for this story, so i'm incredibly excited to post it- and also nervous, as that always follows my excitement, so i hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW: Just a head's up Yaz does face some sexism and racism in this chapter- it is nothing explicit, although of course that does not make it any less disgusting, but just to make you aware. 
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mRx7MOfPrExgIB3dyBY7H?si=_Pal8ldBTrCJpsQeSwROVw

The oppressive heat of the city hits Yaz first, and within seconds she is desperate to shuck her leather jacket from her shoulders. A car horn blares somewhere, and in the far distance she hears sirens; it is both comforting and disquieting, putting her both at ease by the simple fact of being back home, in Sheffield, and also twisting anxiety within her that she is back in the city where things had started to go wrong.

But she is here to put them right.

Only, she would like a shower and a sleep first.

“Yaz!” An all too familiar voice calls and something warm bursts in Yaz’s chest as she turns to see her dad walking towards her across the station concourse, beaming with joy. As if she is a child again, Yaz runs to him, dropping her suitcase and throwing herself into his arms.

“Hi, dad!”

“Oh, love, it’s so good to see you!” Hakim says, squeezing her tight like he used to do when she was a child. “How was the journey?”

“Long, but… not too bad.” She replies. She had been in almost constant correspondence with Jo throughout the journey, and she will message her again once she is safely home, having already texted her as the train was pulling into the station. She wonders where she is now, whether she is on her own in her flat or with Amy and Rory, or perhaps she is at Grace’s.

“Come on, let’s get you home and get you a cup of tea.” Her dad says, releasing her from his warm embrace to pick up her suitcase. They walk at a slow pace away from the station, Yaz rotating her head from one side to the other to ease the knots in her muscles from being in one position for so long; luckily, it is only a short walk from the station to her parents’ home in Park Hill, and as they make their way along roads brimming with traffic in the early evening, blinking against beaming headlights, Yaz asks her dad how he has been, and soon enough, as she had expected, she is caught in a discussion about conspiracies and something to do with aliens on Mars.

“Jo would like to chat with you about that.” She comments offhandedly, not thinking about it as they reach their apartment building, the large block looking down on Yaz and welcoming her home; _this_ she missed. Her family, her home. Suddenly she is itching to get inside and see her mum.

Her dad frowns as he presses the button for the lift. “Who’s Jo?”

Yaz freezes and turns to him slowly. “Did mum not tell you?” At Hakim’s head shake, Yaz sighs, biting her lip. “S’long story.”

Her dad must sense something in her tone, as he nods and closes his mouth with a slight ‘click’, and they spend the rest of the journey talking about what the beaches in Cornwall are like.

“And it was really sunny about… ninety percent of the time.” Yaz is saying as they walk along the hallway to their flat. “Which I thought was really surprising. I thought Cornwall was supposed to be quite rainy.”

“Well, so did I.” Hakim says, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I tell you, sweetheart, it’s an alien conspiracy.”

Yaz sighs and fights the urge to roll her eyes.

Before Hakim can put key to lock the door is flying open and Najia’s smiling face is greeting them. Yaz’s emotions bubble over and she finds herself flinging herself into her mother’s arms, Najia making a sound of delight and embracing her daughter, swaying them on the spot for a few moments before Yaz tears herself away from her. She has been overcome with a suddenly swell of affection, of a need for a motherly embrace after two months and all that has happened. It is the kind of comfort only Najia can provide.

“That was nice.” Najia says as she looks at Yaz with warm eyes, looking at her face as if searching for something, which is when Yaz realises the last time she spoke to her mother she was crying down the phone at Jo’s unmeant words of cruelty. “Come in, love. I expect you’re dying for a cuppa after that journey.”

“Thanks mum.” Yaz says as she follows her mum inside, Hakim shuffling in afterwards with her suitcase and closing the door behind him. “I’m just going to put my bags in my room.” Yaz says, taking the suitcase from her dad and padding down the hallway to her bedroom, hesitating for a second before she opens the door with a click of the latch.

Her bedroom looks as it did when she left, the smattering of dust icing the surfaces of her chest of drawers and her desk the only visible difference Yaz can see. No books rest on her bedside table, and Yaz cringes to see some of the research she had been doing into becoming a sergeant resting on her desk as it to mock her. _Well,_ she thinks, as she dumps her backpack on the bed and rest her suitcase in the corner, _those times are gone, now. This is a new chapter. And this time I’m going to fight for what I want._

There’s a bitterness on her tongue, and a staleness in the air, and something feels like its creeping up her spine, but Yaz puts it down to the room being shut up and slightly musty after two months, to the temperature being colder in here. She shivers, stepping past that moment of hesitancy and towards her bedroom window, tugging open the curtains to survey the view.

Sheffield sprawls out in front of her, and where Kennock Cove had been soft stone and jagged rock Sheffield is all sharp edges and straight lines, and a million lights blink and blare at her as the sky turns to twilight. It is not that it is worse, but it is… different from Cornwall. Different because they are not comparable, both meaning something different to Yaz. She finds her eyes instinctively going to the sky, but the sky is too polluted, and in the twilight, there are barely any stars visible, no constellations for her to connect.

Suddenly everything seems more uncertain and Yaz shakes herself, stepping away before she can go down that trail of thought; it is brought on by the late hour and the long journey, she tells herself, and is confident in asserting that, now, is confident in choosing to acknowledge her feelings and being able to process and think through them. Sheffield is not worse than Cornwall, it is simply… different. Different because they are not comparable, both meaning something different to Yaz. And right now, Yaz tells herself, settling her shoulders back, Sheffield means new hope; the city that sprawls in front of her is hers for the taking, and if Yaz squints, she can see the police station amongst the shining metropolis. She touches the necklace at her throat, playing with the token.

The city is hers.

If she wants it to be.

Yaz pulls her phone from her pocket, bringing up her messages, open on her conversation with Jo. She sends off a text to the other woman.

_Made it home, safe and sound. Xx_

A reply comes back after Yaz has shrugged her jacket off and has kicked off her shoes, and is rifling around in her suitcase for the gifts for her parents. Who knows where Sonya is, seeing as she has not appeared yet to greet Yaz. Yaz will give her her gift, a pair of earrings inset with turquoise handmade by a woman in Kennock Cove, whenever she decides to grace them all with her presence.

_Awesome-sauce xxx_

Yaz laughs, tipping her head back.

“Yaz?” Her mum’s voice calls, curious.

“Coming!” She calls.

_Think those poetry pills have worn off xxx_

_It was only a matter of time xxx_

_Text you in a bit- don’t get any weed from that woman to compensate xxx_

_Believe me Yaz, I learnt my lesson the first time xxx_

Yaz stuffs her phone into her jeans pocket, sniffing, and gathers her gifts in her arms. She herself feels exhausted, despite having been sat down all day, but her parents obviously want to sit down and have a drink with her, and she could see the confusion, the questions in her mum’s eyes, so she supposes she will have to provide some answers. They do not need to know everything, she is an adult, after all, but after phoning her mum in a state of distress she figures it is only fair she provide _some_ explanation for the cause. Besides, she does not want her mum thinking Jo is some sleazy, cruel person, rather than the woman Yaz loves.

Besides, she already knows her dad and Jo are going to get along swimmingly.

“What are those, darling?” Her dad asks as Yaz pads into the kitchen and sits down next to him at the table. The cosy interior is little changed since she was last her, and the familiarity of it feels like a warm hug.

“Presents for you two!” She says, and her parents make sounds of delight and surprise as Najia brings over tea and biscuits. Custard creams, Yaz realises, with a pang in her stomach.

The chutney goes down very well with her dad, and only Najia’s hand on his arm and shake of her head prevents him from popping it open then and there and slavering it onto a custard cream. And Najia is delighted with Amy’s book, running her hands over the cover, and eyes widening when she sees that it is signed.

“Amy’s Jo’s best friend. She runs a café in the village, but she loves writing and seeing as no one had written a history of Kennock Cove before…” Yaz trails off and shrugs.

“Jo’s best friend?” Najia questions, and she looks at Yaz over the top of the book. Yaz feels herself tense. “Jo as in the woman who made you cry, last we spoke?”

“What? What’s this?” Hakim asks, fatherly concern overriding chutney enthusiasm. “This Jo made you cry?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that!” Yaz insists, and she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. _Parents._ “You make me sound like a child!” She would rather have this conversation when she didn’t have hours of train travel settling across her shoulders, but it seems they are doing this _now,_ so she steels herself and begins to talk.

She had explained to her mum in their first conversation about Jo exactly what had happened, and she gives her dad a very brief run down, the confused look on his face enough for her to know there is no point in giving the specifics. She then explains what had happened in those dark days, taking care not to speak too candidly, to preserve Jo’s dignity whilst demonstrating that the other woman had been acting on nothing but a confusion and guilty catalysed by grief.

“…But things are so much better now. She’s getting help, and she recognises that she needs to. She _wants_ to. She’s apologised, more times than I ever needed from her, and we’re working on communicating our needs to each other so something like that doesn’t happen again. It won’t. I….” Yaz trails off, looking to her parents, who stare at her wide-eyed. She has kept her gaze on the table for the most part, tracing patterns in the grain, but now she lets them see the sincerity in her eyes, burning bright with love and meaning. “I love her. So much. She makes me feel so happy, so strong.”

_You make me so happy._

Hakim visibly swallows, whilst Najia gapes for a moment before she finds the words. “Well, that’s… are you sure, Yaz?” She asks with motherly concern. “Only, the last time you rang…”

“I were upset, I know. But I’ve explained why, and it was all a misunderstanding. She didn’t mean it, not one bit. I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life.” Yaz says with blistering confidence.

Not her job, not the promotion, not Clara. Yaz has never felt surer of _anything_ than her love for Jo.

“Well, then, sweetheart, I’ve nothing else to say other than I’m very happy for you.” Najia says, and Yaz feels her whole body relax, the tension seeping away from her shoulders. Her mum covers her hand with her own, and then looks at her dad with wistful eyes. “Love can be confused with other things, sometimes. And you might think you’re in love, but really… you’ve just never known what the real thing is like.” Yaz immediately thinks of Clara. “I can see you know what real love is when you speak about her, darling. I used to talk about your father like that.”

“Used to?” Hakim asks with an affronted frown.

“What I’m trying to say is, even after years, you still feel it, if it’s the real thing. You don’t have to talk about it, it’s just always there, as natural as breathing.”

Yaz does not tell her mum that she and Jo have already moved beyond words in their relationship and have expressed their love through others way too. Instead, she nods, and watches with fondness as her parents look lovingly into each other’s eyes. Her hand automatically moves to her necklace, feeling the phantom presence of Jo beside her; the smell of her hair and her perfume still caught in Yaz’s clothes.

“That’s beautiful, sweetheart.” Najia comments, noticing Yaz’s fiddling with the necklace, and Yaz looks down at it, the symbol pattern familiar under her finger-pad.

“Jo bought it for me.” She says. “I bought her one in return.”

“Look at you, our daughter’s gone all soft.” Hakim says kindly, and Yaz rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“Well, I’m glad you found happiness and love in Cornwall, sweetheart, but how’s it going to work with you here and her down there?” Najia asked, ever practical.

“We’ll be alright. That’s part of our plan to communicate more.” Yaz assures her, feeling slightly like a teenager again with the grilling she is getting. “Trust me on this one, mum.”

“Alright, darling, I just don’t want anything to go wrong for you. not when it’s looking up, with this and your promotion…” Najia says, but relents when she can see Yaz is frustrated; her daughter, is, after all, twenty-eight.

“Oh, yes, congratulations, sweetheart.” Her dad says, reaching across the table to pat her on the shoulder.

“Thanks, I’m really excited about it. Feeling better about it all.” Yaz says vaguely, not wanting to touch on the topic of her dwindled confidence of before-Cornwall too much. Her parents had been aware, Yaz has been living at home for a year after she decided to stop renting an apartment and instead save for a home, and they had been privy to many of her frustrations owing to the close quarters. But she is not going to let it take over this conversation, and saying she feels better is enough; she does not owe them a longer explanation than that.

Najia nods, and her eyes flicker over her daughter’s face. “I’m so proud of you, Yaz. Always have been.”

Yaz gives her a watery smile, emotion surging like a tsunami within her as her parents look at her with pride and love, accepting Yaz’s choices, always being open and understanding and never for once doubting her. After everything that has happened in the last year, the ups and downs peaking and dipping like a mountain range, it is like fresh oxygen when reaching the precipice, the skies clearing. Yaz feels on top of the world, even if part of her wishes Jo was here hand in hand with her instead of through the phone.

Although, she is not sure if Jo should meet her parents. Yet.

Her phone buzzes on table where Yaz had put it when sitting down, and both her parents latch onto that sound like predators on the scent, Najia’s eyebrows raising as she attempts to peer down at the message which pings onto the screen. Yaz whips it away from her gaze before she can read it.

“Is that her?” Najia asks, and Yaz rolls her eyes, stuffing her phone in her pocket after checking the message. It was, indeed, from Jo.

“Yes.” She replies. “And it’s private.”

“Our Yaz isn’t a teenager anymore, love.” Hakim says.

“I know.” Najia says. “I just wish I could share in all her happiness.”

Yaz tries not to show her bemusement; there are some things which are a part of the happiness Jo brings her that her mum really should _not_ share in. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to shower and head to bed. Got a meeting tomorrow with the boss so…”

“Oh, go on, love.” Her mum says, taking her empty mug and collecting with her own and Hakim’s. “Get in there before Sonya gets back. That girl thinks it’s her own private bathroom.”

“Good to know some things never change.” Yaz says with a smile as she rises from her seat. She is just about to turn off onto the hallway when her mum calls after her.

“Yaz?” Yaz turns back to see her mum stood by her dad’s side. “We really are so proud of you.”

Yaz swallows thickly, and oh do those words sound like a sweet melody, except… there is something underlying she cannot quite figure out, a discordant tune, a small strumming of doubt. Over what, though?

“Night.” She bids them, turning away and pushing that bizarre thrum to the back of her mind, pulling her phone out of her pocket to properly read the message from Jo.

_What time is your meeting tomorrow?_

_Ten AM. Why?_

Yaz pulls her bedroom door to with her foot, frowning down at the screen as three dots jump up and down as Jo replies.

_Just wanted to wish you good luck, in case I’m not awake before you have it tomorrow xxx_

_Thanks babe xxx_

_I say wish you, but I’m actually telling you ‘good luck’. I can try and wish it too though xxx_

Yaz laughs into her hand as she makes quick work of shucking her socks off, getting ready to shower.

_I appreciate the effort xxx_

Yaz receives her next text once she is returned from the shower, hot and steamy and feeling so much more relaxed, the grime of the train washed from her hair and body.

_You feeling okay about the meeting? Xxx_

_Yeah, not too bad. Better than I would have been two months ago! Xxx_

_You’re going to blow them away Yaz. You’re so much better than all of them xxx_

_Damn should have made you come along to be my cheerleader xxx_

_I could have provided pom poms!_

_Really?!_

_You’d be surprised what Amy has lying about…_

When Yaz crawls into bed, the sheets crisp and cold and wholly uninviting without a warm body to share it with, she receives another text.

_You left a jumper behind. It smells like you. xxx_

Ah, Yaz thought she was missing something when she had unpacked her case after having a shower.

_You can keep it. Xxx_

_I’m gonna take it to bed. Xxx_

_Sap._ Yaz replies, then adds, _Wish I had something of yours xxx_

_Oh now look who’s the sap!_

_Go to bed xxx_

_Gonna miss you xxx_

Yaz sighs, curling in on herself in her bed, feeling like a lonely island.

_Me too. Get some sleep. Xxx_

_You get some too. Love you xxx_

_Love you too xxx_

Yaz goes to sleep with those words imprinted on the back of her eyelids and on her heart. 

* * *

Yaz lets out a long breath, staring up at the police station which looms over like a monster, ready to taunt, dredging up memories with its talons, but Yaz pushes them down, sets her shoulder backwards and nods to herself. She is dressed for the first time in two months in her police uniform, and the crisp shirt and smart trousers give her a confidence: this is _her_ uniform, no one else’s. And Yaz is reclaiming it, reclaiming her passion, and no one can take that away from her.

Yaz strides confidently up the stairs and through the automatic doors into the foyer, the familiar buzz of chatter and the chirping of phones greeting her ears. Nerves roil in her stomach, but Yaz adjusts her hat and moves towards the reception desk.

“Yaz!” Linda on the reception greets her, wrinkled face beaming with delight. “It’s good to see you! Have a nice break?”

“Yeah, lovely.” Yaz replies with a kind smile. “I’ve got a meeting with Sanjay, I okay to go straight up?”

“Go for it, my girl.” Linda says, waving her through. Yaz nods her thanks and heads for the stairwell.

Heading out onto her floor feels like coming back to school after the summer holidays, and Yaz finds herself fiddling with the bottom of her jacket as she stands in the doorway. She can see Nigel, with his shock of ginger hair, chatting with two of the other PC’s, and there over in the corner is Rani, typing furiously away on her computer, forehead creased in concentration. Just in front of her is Yaz’s empty desk- Yaz’s _old,_ empty desk. She has not sat at it in months, and she will not ever again, now. With once more steadying breath, Yaz steps into the office.

“Yaz!” Nigel cries, spotting her instantly, and his long legs swing themselves over the desk he was perched on as he rushes towards her. “Yaz’s back everyone!”

A round of cheers goes around the office as Nigel pulls Yaz into a tight hug, and Yaz pats his back. “You gone soppy in my absence?” She jokes, and Nigel shakes her before letting her go, both of them laughing.

“Good to see you Yaz.” Rani says from her desk, and Yaz nods her thanks.

“How were Cornwall, mate?” Nigel asks, crossing his arms in front of his body. “Dead boring I bet!”

“Err… no, no it was fantastic.” Yaz replies, scratching her forehead.

“Oh, look out, Nige, she’s going to desert us for the West Country!” Another PC says, and Yaz reels back at how those words bite, nip at that niggling doubt she had pushed down the night before. She tries to summon a smile in response, but her cheeks feel stiff, and Yaz has to gather herself as her Sergeant comes striding out of his office towards them all.

“PC Khan, good to have you back.” He says, coming to a stop by the small group.

She musters a smile on plastic cheeks. “Searg. Good to be back.” She tries to sound like she means it- she _does_ mean it- but the words feel heavy in her mouth, like overdone porridge.

“Shall we?” He asks, gesturing towards his office, and Yaz nods, letting out a nervous exhale. Nigel pats her on the back and the small group disperses as Yaz follows her sergeant into his office, closing the door behind her.

Inside is sat a portly man greying with age, and he stands to greet her when the door is shut closed firmly behind her, the blinds which overlook the large office pulled down, shutting them off from view, and Yaz shakes his hand with a mixture of trepidation and steely confidence. This is the man who gave her position to his son in an act of nepotism which had inadvertently added to Yaz’s wobbling circumstances and sent it tumbling down like pulling to wrong piece out of a game of jenga. The wrong piece, indeed, for it had not been Yaz’s fault, and now she will demonstrate how wrong he was.

“PC Khan, you know Chief Constable Wilkinson?” Her sergeant says, and Yaz gives him a polite smile she really does not mean and shakes his proffered hand.

“Pleasure to see you, sir.” She says, and the man nods at her. Her sergeant gestures that Yaz should sit down on the opposite side of her desk, and Yaz does as her Sergeant and the Chief Constable settle back in their chairs across from her.

“Right, well, it’s nice to have you back with us, Yaz. I hope your holiday was a nice time to relax and reflect.”

“Ready to come back fighting fit, sir.” Yaz replies, and her Sergeant laughs politely as he uncaps a biro and picks up the paper on the desk in front of him.

“Good, good to hear it….” He says, and he gives her a long, evaluating look. Yaz’s spine straightens, her face becomes cool and calm, and her hands in her laps rest on her thighs, not shaking, not sweating. “And, we hope to confirm today, in a new position with us. You ready to move up the ranks Yaz?”

Yaz takes a steadying breath and says with firm confidence. “Yes sir. I am.”

Her sergeant nods, looking like he has received nothing less than he had expected, and he looks down at the paper, eyes scanning the document. He is about to speak when the Chief Constable interrupts.

“Young woman like you, it’ll be good to have you representing us.”

Something about his tone rubs Yaz up the wrong way, and she is not sure whether that was a compliment or not. “Thank you, sir.” She says diplomatically.

“Fills out diversity checklist, anyway.” He tries to joke, and there it is, what had sat wrong in Yaz from that first statement. Indignation and offence flare up in her.

“Err, no, no, that’s not why we’re offering you the promotion, Yaz.” Her sergeant tries to come to her defence, eyeing his superior with alarm.

“I hope not, sir.” Yaz replies, boldly, perhaps too boldly. “I’ve worked hard in the force for almost ten years, now. I am ready to prove myself as a sergeant.”

Her sergeant shots the Chief Constable a look as if to say ‘see?’, and the older man chortles, slapping his hand with his thigh and Yaz’s eyes narrow with disgust at the action. Why is he laughing? This is her future, which she is completely serious about. And so is her sergeant, going by the look on his face.

“See what you mean, little firecracker this one! Maybe we should have given it to her rather than my useless son!” The chief constable says, and Yaz feel her mouth drop open. To practically confess to his act of nepotism in front of her, as if her respect means nothing, as if Yaz is nothing but an amusement to him, a ‘firecracker’…. That is a wholly unprofessional thing to say.

She had heard the rumours of the Chief Constable’s sometimes less than ethical approach, his lack of respect for the younger officers, but this… anger roils in Yaz’s stomach. She did _not_ put herself through all she had for the past two months, this man’s single-minded selfishness adding to it, just to be commented on like this. She did not walk in here with her head held-high just to confronted with this pig-headed and flippant commentary. Yaz swallows, something nervous fluttering in her throat, something which feels too much like that seed of doubt she had successfully been confronting and pushing away. She’s not quite sure, cannot quite make the constellations, but in the face of the Chief Constable’s attitude something terribly ominous, like rolling thunder, rattles around inside her. If she has to put up with this attitude as she finally works her way up the ladder, she is going to have to work twice as hard to prove herself; she will do that, she has no doubts that she can show this man what she is really made of, but the problem is…. should she _have_ to do that in the first place?

Oh Allah, has she just put herself in an even worse position than before?

Indecision wars in Yaz, and even though she is sat down, she feels as if she is moving about the room at rapid pace as worry begins to pick up her breathing, sudden and irrepressible doubt consuming her.

“Searg-” She begins to say but is cut off when the sound of shouting and raised voices comes from outside the office, and her sergeant stands, face caught in confusion and worry, the Chief Constable frowning from his chair and Yaz turns, twisting in her seat, half-rising from the chair with her hands on the arms.

“Hey, no- stop! You can’t go in there!” She hears Nigel call, and there are louder, booming voices as well. Security, Yaz knows, having heard them many a time when a perp has got rowdy. “Hey!”

“M’sorry, really, I just need to-” A voice calls, an incredibly familiar voice but so out of place in this place that Yaz is completely baffled and taken aback for a moment, frozen halfway out of her seat as the door flings open and a figure trips through the doorway, barely catching themselves before they topple to the floor, a figure with blonde hair and worn leather boots who is for some reason wearing a rainbow scarf around her neck but is unmistakably-

“ _Jo?”_

“Who the _hell_ are you?” Yaz’s sergeant demands, and Yaz stand fully from her seat, pushing it back with her thighs, completely shell-shocked by Jo’s presence _here,_ in Sheffield, in her place of work. What is….

“Yaz! Hi!” Jo says as she catches her breath, chest heaving. She darts out of the way of security as they burst in through the door, and Yaz does not think before she puts herself between the two burly men and Jo, holding her arms out in appeasement.

“It’s okay.” She assures them, even though she has absolutely no idea what is happening and it certainly is _not_ okay. “I know her. She’s…. she’s fine.”

“Yaz, explain this, _now.”_ Her sergeant demands, but he nods as the security look at him and the two men back away out of the office.

Yaz looks between him and Jo, who is now bent over with her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath- Yaz is starting to get the impression she ran up here with the security on her tail- and gapes for a moment before collecting herself and saying, “This is Jo. She’s my girlfriend.”

“And what in the hell is she doing here? Unapproved!” The chief constable demands, but before Yaz can answer, Jo butts in.

“Sorry, I just- I had to see Yaz- before-” Jo begins, but she holds up a finger and she sucks in some heaving breaths. “Woah. That was a lot of stairs. I really need to get more in shape.”

“PC Khan, this really is very unprofessional.” The Chief Constable comments, and Yaz fights the urge to snap back that he, too, has been very unprofessional; she _is_ too professional to do that.

“I’m sorry, don’t blame Yaz, blame me!” Jo says, straightening as she finally gets her breath back, flicking her scarf back over her shoulder. _Scarf?_ Yaz can barely take in her presence here yet let alone her sartorial choices. “I thought this would be really romantic, but now I’m getting the impression that it’s just…. a little odd.”

Yaz thinks that is a good descriptor for Jo in general. Perhaps she should be more mad that she has burst into Yaz’s work like this, making a scene, but Jo would not do that unless she had a good reason, Yaz trusts, and the sight of her here, when Yaz had not thought she would see her in person for weeks, maybe months, has a sudden joy travelling through her body.

“Well, you’re here now, so what have you got to say that’s so important?” Yaz’s sergeant sighs, rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, you must be Yaz’s boss.” Jo says, looking the man up and down. Her gaze glances to the Chief Constable as well, appraising and not hiding her distrust. “And you must be Yaz’s _other_ boss. That’s great, two bosses, wow….”

“What is going _on?_ ” The Chief Constable demands to know, and Jo looks at him like he has just grown two heads before her gaze turns to Yaz. The two women share a moment, in which they realise they are stood in front of each other, and Jo smiles sheepishly, embarrassment tinging her cheeks a slight pink.

“I forgot to tell you something.” She states, plain as day.

Yaz shakes her head, silently asking her what is happening.

“And I only realised yesterday, and I just knew I needed to tell you, so…” She shrugs, gesticulating to herself stood here in Yaz’s sergeant’s office.

“Did you not think to phone?” Yaz asks.

“Well, no, I wanted to tell you to your face.” Jo explains.

“…What about FaceTime?” Yaz prompts, but Jo just blinks confusedly at her, and gestures between the two of them.

“This is face time… we’re face to face.” She says, and Yaz sighs, seeing Jo clearly has no idea what FaceTime is. Moving on.

“Is this relevant?” Her sergeant asks, and Jo looks to him apologetically.

“Right, yes! No. Not directly, but...” She takes a deep breath, blowing it out through her cheeks. “I knew I needed to tell you and I wanted to do it before you made any decisions about this, today. I’m not trying to stop you, I’m not trying to sway you one way or the other, although it would be much better if things turned out one way, for the both of us, for practical reasons-”

“Jo?” Yaz prompts, sensing her sergeant’s fraying patience.

“Right, yes. Sorry. I just need you to hear this from me.” Jo says, taking a breath, her hands coming together in front of her body as she gestures at Yaz.

Yaz is glad that Jo is sticking to their communication promise; Jo’s eyes are deep and imploring and steady; she is not holding back what she wants to get off her chest, and it immediately makes Yaz trust what she has to say. 

Somewhere in her gut, an instinctive knowing begins to bloom.

“I know it’s really important for you to come back here and prove to yourself that you are in control and you are as fantastic and brilliant at your job as you hope to be. I know Sheffield is your home and you care about it deeply, and I just _love_ that you feel that way. That passion and drive is so _you,_ Yaz.” Jo says, and Yaz watches as she gathers herself, closing her eyes briefly as she remembers what to say next. “But… do you remember what I said to you all those weeks ago, when we had first met? I told you to take life’s chances whilst you can, before the chance is taken from you, and… You’ve already had that happen, here, with- I’m guessing it’s you?” Jo says, pointing to the Chief Constable. “Just, you look the angriest about this and you’ve got all those fancy… _things_ on your uniform.” She indicates to his insignia. “Anyway, the thing… the promotion thing- yes! That. He took that chance away from you for his own selfish ends. And now you’ve got a new chance! You’ve got this promotion here! Sergeant Yaz! God that makes me so proud! But, there’s also another chance….” She says with the suggestion of something in her tone, but Yaz has already made the mental leap herself. It has been there, digging under the surface, waiting to break cover for quite some time.

“…There’s Cornwall as well.” Yaz finishes, and Jo nods, eyes bright. Yaz can feel her sergeant’s confused gaze on her, but she is too caught up in her own thoughts, which race like greyhounds round the track, each one trying to gain advantage on the other.

“I don’t want to persuade you one way or the other.” Jo continues, voice soft. “You should do what’s right for you, but I’m just saying-”

“There’s a job in Cornwall if I want it.” Yaz interrupts, the words buzzing in her mouth. “And there’s the coastguard as well…”

“If you made that choice, Yaz, I just wanted to tell you that…” Jo says, and her hand reaches out for Yaz’s, but drops to her side before the other woman can take it, sensing the gaze of the two men on them, their already strained patience. Jo’s next words are filled with the sincerity and love that she cannot provide through touch. “You would have a home with me, Yaz. Moving to Cornwall sounds daunting, I know, but if you were to take that chance, then I would be there to help you. And so would everyone else back in the village.”

_You would have a home with me._

Of course Yaz would, because Jo has felt like home since they first dared to crash together in their orbit. And Kennock Cove has felt like home, and the people there, they are all Yaz’s family; they appreciate her, recognise her, and have pulled her up with them to the heady heights of true friendship and love. And she has been torn, ripped in half like frayed paper, because Sheffield is also her home, and she supposes it had felt a little like betrayal, were she to fully recognise how much she has enjoyed living in Cornwall, how it has grown from holiday destination to a place of promise and love. But Yaz had realised it the night before: Sheffield and Kennock Cove are not comparable, because they are completely different, and they mean different things to her. Yaz swallows as a thousand thoughts move at the speed of light and her brain practically feels like its fizzing with the overload.

“We’ve been looking a lot at helping me to find stability, and happiness. Now I think we should focus on you.” Jo gently prompts, and _of course._

Yaz has been looking for the chance to prove herself, to reclaim her dignity and her happiness, find satisfaction in her work and in herself, and she has _thought_ that must have meant coming back the Sheffield a changed woman, a ‘reformed’ woman. Coming back and rewriting bad memories and reclaiming her childhood home for her herself, but now…

“You have to pick your battles.” She says out loud, without realising. “I won’t have lost something if I don’t take this chance, because I already know what I’m worth. And if I really want to prove to myself that I’m strong and capable…. I’ll take the choice which makes me happier, chase after what has finally made me happy after _months_ of putting myself down.”

Jo is beaming, a proud smile which almost tears her cheeks. “I was scared of moving on because I thought I did not deserve to better myself. Did not deserve the _chance_ at something new, and different. You helped me see that was possible. I thought I’d return the favour.” Jo says with a small, hesitant smile. “Not that you didn’t have it in you to realise this before.”

“Yaz?” Her sergeant asks, but Yaz barely hears him through the rushing blood in her ears. “What do you mean there’s another job in Cornwall?”

“It was never really about Sheffield.” Yaz says, and the corrects herself. “I mean, it was, at first, when I put so much of my own sense of self-worth and identity in this place, in this job, but now I’ve gone further afield, and now I know what I’m worth…and I’m worth the happiness I’ve found in Cornwall. I’ll get more out of that then trying to prove myself in a job where nepotism was more important than years of duty.” She looks to the Chief Constable, barely able to conceal her disgust under her excitement. “And you’re still doing it, making those degrading comments to my face. I am worth more than that!”

Yaz is made of multitudes, and she realises now that those grow and expand as _you_ grow and expand, as you go further afield and find home in a new place; that does not mean the old home means less, it just means difference, growth. Kennock Cove, she realises now, means a future, a new chance, an adventure. And the best thing about it would be she would be hand in hand with the woman she loves along the way on that adventure. It would be their adventure together, and still provide them with their own induvial adventures, too. And they would both be home in the doing so, in Cornwall, and in each other.

She has a family here, but they have been here for all of her twenty-eight years, and if they really _are_ family, they’ll be happy and support Yaz as she pursues what makes her happy, as she grows. She can still be loyal and support them; it is not as if she will not ever see them again.

“Searg, I’m sorry, I’m going to have to turn down your offer.” Yaz says, the words leaving her mouth on a rising tide of confidence in her conviction. “And I am going to have to ask you transfer that promotion to the Wadebridge branch of the South-West Constabulary.”

 _“What?”_ Her sergeant and the Chief Constable say in unison.

“There’s a sergeant there, her name is Donna Noble. She’s after a promotion herself, to Inspector. Her team is a little short on numbers, and she would be glad of some new blood. Some new, dedicated blood who will bring a respectful and enthusiastic approach to their job.” She says pointedly at the Chief Constable. “I’m sure you don’t want people knowing about this small nepotism scandal, do you Sir?” Yaz says to him, barely believing what she is saying, but there is no stopping her now. She is full of fire, that final knot of confusion smoothed out, and Yaz now knows exactly what she wants, the last final climb and she has ascended to the apex of all she has wanted from life; a job, a loving partner, and her own self-respect.

“Well, I- I’m not sure whether we can-” The Chief Constable bumbles, caught between anger and embarrassment. He looks to her Sergeant for help, but the man has his arms crossed, appraising Yaz with a frown, but his eyes are calm and appraising. He trusts Yaz, he has always trusted Yaz. Ever since she was a cock-sure probationer bugging him for more calls.

“Maybe I should stay, be the change from within, but I shouldn’t _have_ to be that change.” Yaz adds, really putting her point across. “I’ve given almost ten years to this place. I’m not sticking around to be part of a system that still wouldn’t appreciate me.” She looks to her sergeant. “Not you, Searg. You’ve always had my best interests at heart. And I want to thank you for your trust. I wish you could have furthered yourself in all your years, too.”

A small smile fleets across her Sergeant’s face, gone as soon as it has appeared, but Yaz had seen it, and she knows he is in her corner, impressed by her determination.

“I think we could arrange it, sir.” He says, turning to the Chief Constable with a nod. “Officers get transferred all the time. Promoting Yaz at the same time wouldn’t be too much paperwork.”

The Chief Constable gapes for a moment, and then another moment, running a hand over the front of his uniform. Finally, he grumbles, looking displeased, but defeated. “Alright. I suppose I will concede to your request, PC Khan. I am sorry to be losing such a dedicated and…. Spirited officer.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t see those qualities from the beginning.” Yaz cannot help but say, and she hears Jo snort quietly behind her. Yaz rifles around in her uniform pocket, and after a moment she finds what she is looking for and places it firmly down on her Sergeant’s desk. Donna’s card. She had been compelled to slip it into her pocket that morning, and she had not been sure why…. Now she is.

It is quick work, after that, for her sergeant to summon the correct forms, for the Chief Constable to try and blather some apologies Yaz does not even listen to as they wait for the bureaucratic stone to begin rolling. Jo excuses herself, telling Yaz she will wait outside, which Yaz thinks is probably for the best, no matter how much she wants the other woman by her side. It does not matter, there is no limit on the time they spend together now, she realises with an excited thrill, she is going to live with Jo. They are going to be together. Yaz and Jo.

“Are you sure, Yaz?” Her sergeant asks her, pen in hand poised to sign the necessary paperwork, not hint of condescension in his tone, just care for his best officer.

“Yes.” She answers without a moment’s hesitation, and watches with a smile as he signs on the dotted line. He passes the paper to her, and she signs on the dotted line below, connecting those small marks with her signature, joining them all up, the constellation clear to her now. 

* * *

She does not look at any of her now ex co-workers as she strides confidently from the sergeant’s office; she will see them again before she leaves, and she will give them an explanation then. For now, she is shaking with adrenaline and joy and shock and terror at the sheer scale of the decision she has made. She is sure of it, but it is still daunting, and right now Yaz wants to find comfort in the arms of the woman she is determined she will spend her life with.

Jo is waiting for her in the foyer, fingers fiddling with the end of her scarf, and she rises from one of the plain blue seats which line the room when she spots Yaz, rushing towards her. The security on the door shoot them wary and weary looks, but do not intervene as Jo flings herself into Yaz’s arms, and Yaz laughs, enclosing Jo in her arms, feeling her warm body, the softness of her blonde hair against her cheek. Hers now. Forever.

“Yaz, that were…” Jo says as they pull back, looking at Yaz, beaming with pride. “You were… Incredible! Fantastic! Brilliant!”

“I can’t believe I just did that.” Yaz says. “I mean, I can. I wanted to, but…. I gave it right to the Chief Constable.”

Her mouth falls open in shock and Jo nods admiringly. “Yeah you did!”

“Oh my god, I could have lost my job, let alone got myself a promotion _and_ a transfer!”

“But you didn’t Yaz, and that’s because he could see you were calling his bluff, had him cornered!” Jo reassures her, hands resting on Yaz’s arms. She shakes her lightly. “You’re going to move to Cornwall, Yaz!”

“Oh my…” Yaz stutters. It is strange, she believes it, is sure of it in her very soul, and yet the truth of it has not yet sunken into her skin. “I’m going to be with you. And everyone else. In Kennock Cove…”

“And I meant what I said. If you need a home, I’ll be there.” Jo reassures her, her hazel eyes bright and watery. “But if you want your own space, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“No, no, I’d…” Yaz licks her lips. She is overflowing with emotion. She feels her body might burst. “I’d love to be with you. To live with you.”

Jo’s smile wobbles like a tightrope as she, too, fights to contain her emotion. “I love you.”

“Stars, I love you, too. Come here.” Yaz says, and pulls Jo too her, connecting their lips with an electric spark.

Maybe they should be worrying they are moving too fast, moving in with each other after only two months, not even that in an official relationship, but those two months had felt like a lifetime, and they have come together at the speed of time travel, so that time has no meaning; the only meaning is in their love, and they are sensible enough, appreciate and caring enough of each other to overcome any storms which come their way. Moving in together will be so easy.

“How on _earth_ did you get here?” Yaz asks once they have pulled away from each other. She can see they are getting strange looks from some of the officers and Linda on reception, so Yaz slowly guides them towards the doors, not looking at the security as they pass.

“The train. The overnight one.” Jo explains as they step out into the outside air.

“Bloody hell!” Yaz exclaims, and then something occurs to her. “Hang on, is that why you asked me what time my meeting was?”

Jo nods, looking sheepish. “I tried to get there before you went in, I was hoping to catch you outside so I wouldn’t have to make a scene, but… I got lost.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yaz asks, not unkindly. Just genuinely curious as to Jo’s thought process, trying to understand it a little better.

“Like I said, I wanted to tell you face to face.” Jo explains. “I just… panicked, really. Didn’t want to say it over the phone, because I didn’t really know what I would say yesterday. I was thinking it over on the train here until I could come up with something, and I knew I wanted to say it to your face.”

“I know.” Yaz says, nodding. She understands. “So, you decided on this action?”

“Right…” Jo agrees, letting out a sigh. She looks cautiously at Yaz. “Are you cross at me?”

Yaz stops her on the pavement, winding her arms around Jo’s neck. “Hmm. No. Just… shocked. But a good kind of shocked. What’s really bothering me is _why_ are you wearing a _scarf?_ ”

“Oh,” Jo says, looking down at the rainbow scarf wrapped around her neck. “Well, umm, like I said I panicked.”

“Right.” Yaz says with a laugh, drawing Jo into another kiss. This impossible woman.

“You’re in Sheffield.” She says as they begin walking again, away from the police station and onto the main road.

“I’m in Sheffield.” Jo replies on a shaky exhale. She looks around her as they walk. “Looks brighter than I remember.”

“Well, it is August.” Yaz counters with a light smile. Then she adds, “You alright with this?”

Jo licks her lips. “Yeah.” She says, and then she clears her throat, sounding surer of herself as she says, “Yes. I am.” Her hand in Yaz’s tightens, a silent recognition of the other woman’s presence and support.

“Good.” Yaz says. She takes Jo in in the daylight, how her cheeks are flushed and red but there are dark circles under her eyes. “You must be tired.”

“Exhausted.” Jo says with a light laugh. She runs a hand through her hair. “Amy were so cross.”

“Didn’t stop you, though.” Yaz counters as she takes Jo’s hand in hers, leading them onwards once more.

“No. To be honest I could see she thought it were a good thing.” Jo considers. “I should really text her…”

“Come on, let’s go get a drink and just have a moment.” Yaz says, and Jo nods, leaning into her so that their shoulders brush.

“Oh, by the way, you in your uniform…” Jo says and trails off, letting out a light sigh which hitches up at the end and Yaz feels her eyebrows rise, delight filling her. Jo catches her eye out of the corner of her own, and flushes even deeper red.

“Noted.” Yaz says teasingly and laughs as Jo soon after resembles a beetroot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... Ta da! I really hope you enjoyed! I'm not going to give too much away about the next chapter, but what I will say is you ever had an awkaward dinner? ;)
> 
> Anyway stan Najia Khan 2k20 (I love her)
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	36. Sunrise (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments on the last chapter, I'm happy I managed to surprise a few of you with Jo bursting in! I hope you enjoy this one... quite nervous about it as it's the Khans and the iconic Najia so I hope I've got her right!!
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mRx7MOfPrExgIB3dyBY7H?si=_Pal8ldBTrCJpsQeSwROVw
> 
> Enjoy 😊

“We are going to have an organisation nightmare on our hands.” Yaz says as she settles across the table from Jo, stirring the milk into her cup of tea. They are in a small café not far from the police station, and Yaz has set her hat down on the table between them and begins to loosen the pins in her hair with her free hand. “Be worth it though.”

“Would Bill be able to let you stay at her cottage again until we can figure out something more permanent?” Jo asks her as she stirs her hot chocolate. Yaz does not comment on the extra sugar she adds to the already saccharine drink; she is tired, and in the city she has not been in since the grief overwhelmed her the first time. A little more sugar will not hurt her.

“I don’t see why not.” Yaz says. “She’s gonna go mental when I tell her. Good mental. ‘Best friend happy for me’ mental.”

Jo nods, but she is obviously lost in thought. After a moment, she raises her eyes and locks them with Yaz’s. “We’re actually doing this.”

“Yeah. We are.” Yaz replies with a grin, and Jo sends her one back. Yaz chooses to express her slight concern. “I know this has moved very fast. It’s alright, isn’t?”

“Oh, Yaz, it’s more alright than you could possibly know.” Jo replies sincerely.

Yaz nods, but lets her gaze fall to the table, tracing the grains in the wood with her eyes. “I just worry about if moving in together so soon… It’s not going to be too much at once, is it? I know I made an impulsive decision back there, although, it was the right one, I can feel in my gut it was the right one, but…” She allows their promise to fall into place, to express her concern, to mark the lines in the sand clearer as they discuss a major change in both their lives. “… When I were with Clara, I think we moved too fast and we moved in together really quickly, considering. And I wonder whether that was why our relationship went stale. Because we did it all too fast.”

Jo leans forward on the table. “Are you worried that is going to happen with us?”

Yaz bites her lip and considers. “No, no, I’m not, because you’re…. well, we’ve said it all before.” She says with a smile which Jo returns. Yaz shrugs, feeling the anxiety leave her. “I think I were just worrying because that’s the only experience I’ve got. Plus, with us working on other aspects, I didn’t want it to seem like too much too fast for either of us.”

“I think…” Jo says, her fingers playing with Yaz’s. “That we’re taking the chances we’re given, and that while we were willing to be apart, we’d obviously choose to be together, right?” Yaz nods. “Because it makes us happy, And, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that life is too short not to grab at happiness. And, if we need space apart, we can have space apart. I’ll move onto Amy and Rory’s couch if you want me to.” Yaz laughs, and Jo’s grin is beaming back at her when she looks up at her. “I don’t think we’re idiots. We’re not doing it because we should, but because we want to. You said it yourself to your boss and your other boss, you’re worth the happiness.”

Yaz knows Jo is right, her words a soothing balm. Like they had agreed with the communication aspect of their relationship, their love runs a strong current under everything; it is the thing that ties them together with an invisible bond, like those constellations in the sky. And if their happiness and their love coalesce into wanting to grab at the chance at living together, then any difficulties pale in comparison to how alive that makes Yaz feel.

“This doesn’t seem real.” Yaz says with a smile, her fingers tightening around Jo’s, as if to prove to herself that this _is_ real, a tangible proof. “I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

“You’re going to have to fight me for that spot, Yaz.” Jo replies.

“Don’t try me, babe, we both know I work out for my job.” Yaz replies suavely, and Jo’s cheeks flush, her eyes going to Yaz’s arms, to the defined yet subtle muscles which reside under her uniform. Yaz herself flushes with delight.

“Yes, officer- Sergeant!” She says, catching herself with a grin. “Sergeant Yaz!”

“I can’t believe it….” Yaz says, and then reconsiders. “No. Actually, I can.”

No more putting herself down, no more wondering, no more wanting- Yaz’s life has completely flipped itself upon its head, and yet she is more stable and steadier than ever. She can believe what is happening, because she realises now that she is worth it, deserves it, and the feel of Jo’s hand in hers is tangible and grounding. They are really doing this, and Yaz has never felt stronger in her conviction.

The biggest decision she has made in her life so far, since a policewoman found her in the moors and convinced her that she could help herself, and Yaz feels light, carried along on a summer’s breeze, because reaching what she has wanted and needed really was that easy. Something heavy has lifted from around Yaz’s shoulders, a cloak of leaden weight of expectation that she _needs_ to be in Sheffield, to protect it and to demonstrate her worth, for Yaz has already given as much as herself as she could to this, her childhood home, and another cloak of self-respect and knowing encases her in its place. Putting herself first, to be more, see more, and do more, is not selfish; her identity does not rest wholly in her job and in this city, but is multitudinous. The cloak is speckled with the stars which make up the constellations of her multitudes. 

There is one thing that niggles at her, however, an irritating itch. It will be fine, she knows, but…

“I have to tell my parents.” She says, rubbing her forehead with her free hand.

“Will they be alright with it?” Jo asks.

“I think so.” Yaz replies truthfully. “It’ll just be a shock for them, knowing I’m not going to be nearby… We’ve got dinner tonight, I can tell them then.”

Which is when something else occurs to her.

“Jo, have you got anywhere to stay?” Yaz asks, although she feels she already knows the answer.

“Umm… Haven’t got that far yet.” Jo winces. “Yaz, I can always get a train back this afternoon if you didn’t want me to-”

“Don’t be daft. Not unless you want to, but we’ve arranged a meeting with Donna in a couple of days so I should come back with you then anyway.” Yaz says. She lets out a long breath. “It’ll be fine. You don’t even have to meet them properly if you don’t want to. It’s soon, I know, with very short notice-”

“No, it’s…” Jo coughs to clear her throat. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine, right?”

Yaz gives her an encouraging smile. She knows Jo does not have much experience with parents, but Yaz will be there to make sure she does not feel uncomfortable. Besides, she has already said to herself Jo and her dad are going to get on like a house on fire. If Hakim can get past Jo’s…. eccentricities, that is. It’ll be fine.

“’Course it will be.” She assures her.

“What do they- what-” Jo huffs as she tries to formulate a question. “Do they know?”

“They know about you, yes.” Yaz answers. And then it is her turn to wince. “I told my mum about what happened, not the details, just… when, after you’d said what you did to me, I phoned her because I was upset.”

“Oh, Yaz.” Jo’s face creases with regret, and Yaz strides in before self-loathing can settle in its place.

“Don’t. Don’t, it’s okay. I’ve told her it was all a… misunderstanding.” Yaz lands on diplomatically. “Still, she’s going to be protective, but once we all get talkin’, I’m sure she’ll warm to you.”

“Really?” Jo asks her, still looking unsure.

“Really.” Yaz says confidently, swallowing down her own nerves.

Her parents meeting Jo… It really will be fine, but that prospect along with the news of Yaz’s move… butterflies set course in her stomach.

“We’ll worry about that later.” She decides resolutely, taking a long gulp of her tea. “For now… I’ve got a free day!”

“We should do something to celebrate! Do you want to do something to celebrate?” Jo asks her.

Yaz takes in her tired eyes and drooping shoulders, and an idea forms. She knows _exactly_ how she wants to celebrate, and that is with the woman she loves by her side. “There’s no one home at the moment, they’re all at work. How about we head back, grab some food, and curl up on my bed?”

Jo looks relieved, shoulders visibly dropping. She still asks, “Are you sure? Didn’t you want to do something, or…?”

Yaz leans forwards on the table. “Do you feel comfortable doing that?”

Jo hesitates, hazel eyes flickering around the room and not focussing on anything. Finally, she replies. “When I’m this tired? I don’t think I am.”

Yaz nods. “Then it’s settled. We can order food in and lounge around all day. To be honest, I couldn’t think of celebrating in any better way than just being with you.”

Jo visibly relaxes, a tired and affectionate smile coming to her face. “That sounds perfect.” 

* * *

Yaz is startled by the sound of the front door opening, and she scrambles further upright on the bed, resting on her elbows. She looks around her for her clock, seeing that it has just gone six in the evening; that will be her mum home, then. Her dad will follow soon after.

She lets out a long sigh, trying to wake herself out of her doze. Next to her, Jo is sound asleep, tucked in between Yaz’s side and the wall, and Yaz resists the urge to reach down and push her hair back from her face, smiling softy. They have whiled away the hours of the day gorging themselves on pizza and binging films they had not really watched on Yaz’s bed, enjoying each other’s company and revelling in the feel of one another after thinking it would be a while before they saw each other again. After a couple of hours Jo’s exhausted body had given in and she had fallen asleep with her head on Yaz’s shoulder, and the other woman had let her rest there whilst she had begun a furious text communication with both Bill and Ryan, sharing her news.

Safe to say they are ecstatic.

She must have dozed off somewhen herself, though, seeing as she is now slumped half upright on her bed disoriented and not knowing what the time is. And now, she needs to face the music that is her parents: she can only hope it will go down as the sweet symphony she is expecting it to be, rather than clashing like heavy rock.

She decides to leave Jo sleeping and introduce them all when she has already braced her parents. She slips off the bed as swiftly as she can, giving in to the urge to press a quick kiss to Jo’s cheek. The other woman hums and shifts slightly, but her breathing remains even and steady and Yaz turns to leave once she is assured that she is still sleeping, closing her door behind her with a quiet ‘click’.

“Yaz, darling.” Her mum greets her as she chucks her keys in the dish by the door, hanging her bag up on a peg, coat following soon after. “How was your first day back? The meeting with you boss go okay?”

“Ermm, yeah, yeah it was… good.” Yaz settles on. She will leave the news about her move until dinner. “Err, mum?”

“Yes love?” Najia asks as she moves past Yaz into the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. Yaz twists her fingers together in front of her. Why she is so nervous? She is twenty-eight for goodness sake! Still, a mum is still a mum even when one is an adult. “I’ve had a visitor.”

“Oh?” Najia says as she runs the kettle under the tap, filling it up.

“Yeah, it’s ermm…. Well, it’s Jo, actually.”

“Really?” Najia replies, kettle overflowing with water as she stands frozen in the kitchen looking at Yaz, eyebrows raised in surprise. Yaz nods. “But I thought she was in Cornwall?”

“She was.” Yaz explains. “She got the night train up to see me.”

“Why?” Najia asks.

Yaz hesitates. The explanation she wants to give later. She settles on a half-truth. “She missed me.”

Najia looks unsure, and she shrugs a little as she finally comes back to herself enough to switch off the tap and move the kettle to the counter, switching it on to boil. “Sounds a little needy if you ask me, love.”

“No, it’s not, that’s not….” Yaz sighs. “Look, can I talk to you and dad properly at dinner? And Sonya, she should hear this, too.”

“Alright.” Najia says, looking even more unsure, her arms crossing in front of her body. “Can I meet her before then?”

“Oh, she’s sleepi-” Yaz begins to say, but then she hears her door latch open behind her and footsteps padding down the hallway. She turns, and Jo’s head peers around the corner, looking first to Yaz, and then to Najia. Her eyes widen in surprise and no small amount of fear.

_So much for bracing her parents, then._

“Oh, hi!” She says, padding into the kitchen. “You must be Yaz’s mum!”

And before Yaz can even blink Jo has moved past her and is pulling her mum into a short embrace. Yaz feels her own eyebrows rise at the sight; Jo is not overtly touchy with people, only with Yaz, let alone someone she has not met before who she seems rather apprehensive of. Quite the first impression.

“Please, call me Najia.” Her mum says with bemusement as Jo pulls back, settling herself at Yaz’s side. “You must be Jo.”

“Err, yes, yes, that’s me.” Jo says, and she turns to Yaz, who can feel her mum’s wide-eyed gaze on her. “Was that good? Did I- was that right?”

“It was alright, babe.” Yaz assures her, putting her hand to her arm to reassure her with her touch. The three of them stand in a very awkward silence for a few moments, Yaz’s mind racing but coming up with absolutely nothing to say, Najia’s eyes trailing up and down Jo’s person, taking her in, when they are saved by the sound of another key in the door. Yaz’s dad. Oh no. Not saved, then, just…. another person to add to the situation. And, oh _of_ course that has to be-

“I’m just saying that arranging a second viewing should go through me, rather than just going to the house and knocking on the door.” Sonya is complaining.

“Well, I know, love, but some people don’t think, do they?” Her dad replies, their voices echoing slightly from down the hall; Sonya must have arrived home at the same time as her dad. Two birds with one stone, Yaz supposes, trying to find the bright side. Next to her, Jo takes her hand.

“Well, they should learn to- Oh, hello.” Sonya pauses hallway through her moaning as she and her dad round the corner, pausing at the sight of Jo.

“Yaz, love, who’s this?” Her dad asks, and Yaz silently begs Jo _not_ to try and hug either her dad or Sonya. What Jo does, do, however, is offer her hand for her dad to shake and give Sonya a short wave.

“Hi, I’m Joanne Smith. Jo to friends. J to the old lady in the village who sold me weed one time- on accident!” She clears up, when Najia’s eyebrows rise significantly high. “On accident. I wasn’t, ermm… I’m not….” She breathes out shakily, and Yaz takes her hand again, giving it a squeeze and trying to catch her eye to reassure her to calm down. Jo breathes in again, looking at Yaz with panicked eyes; Yaz cannot blame her, Najia’s glare is so piercing Yaz is sure it must have cracked glass at some point. However, when Jo meets her eye, Yaz sees something in them click into place, a calmness, a surety, and she lets out the breath as a sigh, and turns back to Yaz’s family. “I’m Jo, and I’m in love with your daughter. No, not _your_ daughter. Your _sister._ ” She says to Sonya, who is gaping at her. Jo turns to Yaz, looking at her like she has just hung the moon. “She’s the most amazing person I know, and she’s helped me in ways I didn’t think anyone ever could. She’s truly one of a kind.” She turns to Najia, scrunching up her nose. “You made a really awesome human being.”

Yaz’s cheeks are burning but a fire is alight inside her which overpowers any embarrassment she might be feeling; suddenly she is glad that Jo was here to meet her family all at once, to demonstrate to them just how much she loves Yaz. That should put any doubts which might have coloured her mum’s view of Jo to bed. The burning fires floods her with warmth.

“Wow. Well that’s ermm…” Najia says, clearing her throat and swallowing her surprise; the piercing glare is gone, swallowed by surprise, something so incredibly rare and Yaz feels a swooping joy that Jo has managed to catch her out like that. “That’s very nice of you to say, love.”

“Yaz, when the hell did this happen?” Sonya asks, pointing at Jo, and Yaz realises she has been completely out of the loop. A twinge of guilt fills her, but there is nothing she can do about it now.

“Cornwall, Son.” She explains.

“All that in two months?” Sonya asks, eyebrows raising. “Bloody hell, Yaz. Got anything else you want to tell us?”

Yaz feels all eyes turn on hers, and Jo hand tightens in hers. “Dinner.” She says firmly. “I’ll explain all at dinner.”

“Well it was nice to meet you, Jo.” Hakim says.

“Jo is staying, actually.” Yaz blurts out, not holding anything else back for now. There is not much her parents can do to stop her. “She came up here unexpectedly, so she’s got nowhere else to go.”

Her parents must realise what Yaz is edging at, her tone brooking no compromise, her _age_ brooking no compromise, for they both settle back, Najia nodding and reaching for a cupboard handle. “Well, then, Hakim, you better remember to put another serving of rice in the pan.”

“Fine by me. It will be nice to get to know you, Jo. Beef pilaf alright with you?” Hakim says, and Yaz feels so grateful for her dad’s laid-back attitude to these sorts of things. Jo gives him her polite close-lipped smile.

“Yes. Thank you, Yaz’s mum, Yaz’s dad.” She says.

“Najia.” Her mum replies.

“And I were thinking I’d do some of my pakora on the side-” Hakim begins to say, but both Sonya and Yaz interrupt him.

“No!”

“Oh! Pakora.” Jo exclaims, finger in the air. “Yes! I tried to make that for Yaz. Twice!” The pointing finger moves to Hakim. “Yaz said you were terrible at it, Yaz’s dad.”

Hakim’s eyebrows raise, and Yaz grimaces, shaking her head slightly. Sonya can barely contain her laughter, whilst Najia has an amused and bemused look on her face. Hakim looks from his daughter to Jo and then back again, and Jo slowly lowers her finger, wincing. “Ah, right, tact. Yes, forgot about that there, err…”

Jo turns to Yaz, slightly panicked, but before Yaz can say anything to ease the tension, Hakim bursts out laughing. He turns to Najia. “You mean to say I’ve been serving my pakora to your side of the family for years and they’ve all hated it but haven’t said a thing? They must really like me, I’ve never had such a big seal of approval!”

Najia rolls her eyes and tuts, reaching out to swat at her husband’s arm. “Hakim!”

The slight tension is diffused, and Yaz feels Jo relax next to her. Hakim turns back to Yaz and Jo, shaking his head jovially as he continues to chuckle. “And there I was thinkin’ they hated me…. Now, I think _that_ was a conspiracy between all of them.”

Najia shakes her head with raised eyebrow as she watches her husband pad off down the hallway to change out his workwear. Sonya follows soon after shooting Yaz raised eyebrows, and Najia turns to reach for the kettle.

“Tea, Jo?” She asks, and Yaz knows that is the surest sign of approval; invitation for tea is not something to be taken lightly by Najia Khan.

Jo’s face brightens at that. “Tea at Yaz’s? Amazin’.”

 _That,_ Yaz thinks, _could have gone much worse._

* * *

“So, what is it you do, Jo?” Najia asks politely as they are all tucking into their portions of beef pilal, their plates steaming with heat and giving off a heady, rich aroma which calms the nerves settling in Yaz’s stomach. It is familiar, comforting.

“I work in a bookshop.” Jo explains, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her contacts had gotten dry and she had relented after they had had a cup of tea. “I also do tours of the village. The history and all that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Yaz berates her good-naturedly, knocking their legs together under the table. She looks across the table at her family. “Jo’s a doctor.”

“Oh, wow!” Najia exclaims.

“Yeah.” Jo replies with a bashful smile. “In astrophysics.”

Sonya’s mouth drops open and Hakim’s beef falls off the end of his fork as he pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “What on _earth_ are ya doin’ working in a bookshop in Cornwall?”

“Dad!” Yaz berates him. “Don’t be so-”

“No, it’s alright, Yaz.” Jo appeases her with a small smile. She licks her lips and takes a steadying breath before she speaks, “My wife. She died. ‘Bout fifteen months ago. I moved to Cornwall to get a fresh start.”

“Oh.” Najia says, face creased in shock and sympathy. Her hand has gone to her chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Jo hesitates, and Yaz takes her hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. If it had been two months ago, when they had first met, Jo might have responded with a sardonic, self-loathing ‘don’t be’. But now…. Well, she says nothing, but she does nod in thanks at Najia.

The table is silent for a moment, everyone poised in stillness for a moment. Sonya is wide-eyed, cheeks drawn, and there is a tick twitching in Hakim’s cheek. Jo is the one to finally break it, looking to Yaz as she does. “But, like I said earlier, Yaz has been a help, a huge help, and…. I love her. I really, love her.”

“Oh, that’s so nice.” Najia says breathily, taking a long sip of her wine. Jo has well and truly won her over. Yaz, so proud and so full of emotion, throws caution to the wind and leans over to press a kiss to Jo’s lips. They both taste like curry, but that does not matter.

“Ew, Yaz!” Sonya exclaims, and that breaks the tension, and Hakim is coughing awkwardly whilst Najia looks taken aback but, Yaz can see, secretly chuffed. Yaz herself is laughing when they break apart, and there is a light in Jo’s eyes, too, which reassures her.

The rest of the main course passes by in smatterings of anecdotes Yaz tells her family about Kennock Cove, Jo chiming in as they recount some memorable moments. Najia winces at Yaz’s retelling of bruising her ribs, and they all laugh as Jo mimes pushing Oscar into the water. Yaz does not miss the knowing and favourable look her mum shoots Jo’s way as she waxes lyrical at Yaz’s brilliance, how she had helped the man in Wadebridge, how she had stood up for Wilf in Penzance, and how much she has helped so many people in so many ways, herself and Jo most of all.

Then, the conversation moves on to Hakim avidly asking Jo questions about how the tide is controlled by the moon, as Yaz sits back and watches her partner in her elements as she demonstrates to her family how tidal control works, using the rice on her plate as sand and the sauce as the ocean to demonstrate her point, satisfied that Jo has passed her parents’ test of approval and then some; Yaz gets her desire to never suffer fools from them, and she can see they are enjoying, rather than being alarmed by, Jo’s eccentricities and blunt authenticity. Although, she is sure some of it passes over her dad’s head. Yaz peers up at Sonya, her parents both fixed on Jo’s impromptu lecture, to see her sister looking at her, not with the scorning condemnation of ‘you’ve chosen such a weirdo, Yaz’, but a softness so rarely seen from Sonya. Yaz smiles back, and Sonya’s lips twitch upwards for a second before she rolls her eyes and resumes eating. Yaz’s own gaze returns her plate, a smile still tugging at her lips.

They all eat in companionable silence for a while, broken only by a smattering of words as dishes and sides are passed around. Najia’s gaze keeps flicking from between Yaz and Jo, and Yaz can feel it like a tangible force, knowing her mum is bursting with questions. There is, of course, one thing she still needs to say, and she waits until the main course has been cleared away and her mum is bringing out a shop-bought cake and apologising to Jo, who Yaz can see could not care less, eyes lighting up at the sight of something sugary, until she brings it up. She takes Jo’s hand when she does, signalling that it is time.

“Ermm, so, you know I said I would explain everything now?” She begins, and her mum nods as she cuts everyone a slice of cake. Sonya is texting away on her phone, and Hakim is flicking through the newspaper, the setting much more causal now that the main dinner has been consumed. Casual is good, Yaz can do casual. “Well. I did have a meeting with my Sergeant this morning. And the Chief Constable was there, too-”

“Blimey.” Hakim exclaims, looking over the top of her newspaper.

“Yeah.” Yaz says, biting down on her nerves. “Well, the meeting was about the promotion, and, I’ve got it, I’m going to be a sergeant-”

“Wahey!” Hakim shouts, dropping his newspaper onto the table to start clapping. Sonya picks up her glass and raises it to her sister in an impromptu toast, but Najia is watching her carefully, ever observant of her daughter, and her eyes narrow.

“But?” She prompts Yaz, and Hakim pauses his clapping to look up at his wife, confusion etching his brow.

“But….” Yaz says, and she takes a deep steadying breath. This is it. “I’ve also got a transfer.”

“A transfer? A transfer where?” Najia says, and Yaz can feel all eyes on her. She glances Jo’s way, her sure and steady eyes meeting Yaz’s own, and feels buoyed enough to speak the next news.

“Cornwall.”

“ _What?”_ All three of her family members say together. They are all frozen, and Yaz is fairly certain her heart has stopped beating and her lungs have closed up. _Let it sink in,_ she tells herself, hoping that in sinking in, their belief in her does not sink, too. Beside her, Jo keeps quiet.

“I realised that I was not happy here.” Yaz says, and looks to her mum. “Actually, mum, it was something you said to me. I called you, and you told me you hadn’t heard me as happy as I sounded in a long while, and I realised that it’s because…” Yaz shrugs. “I’ve simply outgrown Sheffield. I want something new, something different. And Cornwall, being in Kennock Cove… I felt so at home.”

“But, Yaz, _this_ is your home.” Her dad says, confusion marring his face.

“Yes, and it still will be. But I’m twenty-eight, and I still live with you two because I can’t afford somewhere here, and I’ve felt stuck in the mud in my job for ages. And I’ve realised that the promotion isn’t going to fix that. I want to be happy. Really happy. For myself. And… I’m going to have that in Kennock Cove.”

“But, what’s that got that here hasn’t?” Najia asks, and her tone is not petulant, more curious. It encourages Yaz to speak truthfully.

“The people I met down there… they made me feel so welcome. They’re a second family to me now, really. And it’s so beautiful. Plus, I met a sergeant down there. Her name’s Donna, and, well, I sort of helped her out with an incident, and she was so impressed she gave me her card there and then and told me to let her know if I ever moved down in Cornwall, as she wanted me on her staff.”

“Hang on, but _she’s_ a sergeant?” Hakim asks.

Yaz shakes her head. “She’s being promoted too. Been after it for a while. She’ll be inspector, and _I’ll_ be sergeant.”

“I think there’s another reason you want to move down there, isn’t there, love?” Najia prompts her, eyes on Jo, who is looking at Yaz and only Yaz.

Yaz sighs. “Yes. There is. And before you say anything, she hasn’t convinced me to come and live down there with her for selfish reasons! In fact, she told me that it was completely up to me and she would support me either way!” Yaz says, pointing warningly at her mum. She does not mention that Jo had burst into her meeting that morning. That would just create more questions.

“I wasn’t going to-” Najia begins, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m just… Yaz, are you sure, sweetheart? Because if you are, then I’ll support any choice you make, but if you’ll regret it in a few months….”

“No. I’m sure.” Yaz says confidently, her eyes alight with fire, and her mum must be satisfied, knowing and understanding and trusting her daughter’s passion well.

“I’m just…” Hakim shakes his head. “Yaz, I thought you liked the excitement of working here. Isn’t Cornwall going to be a bit…. Boring, love?”

Yaz shakes her head. “There is so much there that makes me excited. I’m excited to work with a new team. I’m excited for the small differences I can make, as well as the big ones. Plus, I’m thinking of joining the coastguard.”

Sonya’s eyes go even wider and Najia gapes for a moment, motherly concern filling her face. “My goodness…” She says.

“There’s so much there I want to do, mum, to help myself to grow, to find new parts of myself I didn’t know were there before. I know this is the right decision for me.” Yaz says, and her tone is conclusive, closed-off. This is the last point she needs to make. “And I’m going to miss you all, ‘course I am. Even you, Son.”

“Oi!” Sonya says, crossing her arms. She has had the decency, at least, to put her phone away.

“But I want to do this.” Yaz continues, ignoring her sister. At her mum’s crumpling expression of sorrow as the reality sets in that her eldest daughter is moving hundreds of miles away, Yaz rises from her seat and put her arm around Najia’s shoulders. “And it’s not like I’m never going to see you again. There’s the train. Or, if needed, I can get a car.”

“Well, Yaz, I for one am dead proud of you.” Hakim says, rising from his seat to stand on Najia’s other side, hand on Yaz’s back. “Even if I’m going to miss ya so much it hurts.”

Yaz’s feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, and then her mum is letting out her own sob and Yaz is being pulled into her tight embrace. Hakim soon encircles them with his own arms.

“Sonya, get over ‘ere.” He orders, and Sonya rolls her eyes but, Yaz can see, eyes poking out from behind her dad’s embrace, there is a smile on her face when she rounds the table and allows herself to be folded into a familial hug.

Yaz can just about spot Jo, who is watching them with a wistful faint smile on her face, from beyond the embrace, and her own mouth is about to open to invite her over when her mum beats her to it. “Jo, come on.”

Jo’s eyes widen in surprise and she looks hesitant, her movements uncharacteristically small as she gestures between them and her. “Are you-?”

“Get over here.” Najia insists. “I can see how happy you’ve made our Yaz. And it makes me feel better she is going to be making this big change with you by her side.”

Jo’s whole face wobbles like a jelly, and it sets Yaz’s own eyes to tearing up once more as she rises and very carefully slots herself into the family embrace, leaning against Yaz’s back.

“This is so gross.” Sonya says, voice muffled, but there is no malice; sarcasm and faux irritation are simply how she expresses her emotions.

“It’s amazin’.” Jo mumbles into Yaz’s ear, so quietly Yaz thinks she is the only one who hears it, but it is enough for her to know how grateful Jo is for this.

She is part of Yaz’s family, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope I got Najia right... it's making me so nervous for some reason ahaha!   
> Only one more chapter to go... (and the epilogue)- this chapter is so long I've split it in three lol.
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	37. Sunrise (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, here we are.... the official final chapter. The next will be the epilogue, which to me is a little separate from the story itself, so, I hope you enjoy this, the 'official' end to Jo and Yaz's story. But really, it's only the beginning, isn't it?
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mRx7MOfPrExgIB3dyBY7H?si=_Pal8ldBTrCJpsQeSwROVw
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> TW: brief mentions of death, burial, graveyards

It is late, and the lights of Sheffield twinkle beyond the window like artificial stars. Yaz is not fooled. A figure cuts into their mimicry, a shadowed silhouette stood in the kitchen surveying their play. Yaz hesitates for only a moment before padding into the kitchen to join her.

Najia turns at the sound of her daughter’s footsteps, smiling softly as Yaz approaches, holding her arms out and gesturing for her daughter to fall into her embrace. Yaz makes quick work of it.

Her mum’s embrace is soft and warm and familiar, and Yaz immediately feels like a child again.

“I’m so proud of you, Yasmin.” Najia mumbles into her hair.

“ _Yasmin?”_ Yaz questions as she lets her mum sway them on the spot.

“Let me use your proper name, when I’m trying to be sentimental.” Najia replies, squeezing her tighter.

“Alright.” Yaz relents.

“But I really am proud of you, sweetheart. You’ve always stuck to yourself. And even through the last few months. The last year, really. When it was all hitting you hard. The job, the promotion, and Clara…. And you’ve still come out of it stronger and sure of yourself. So sure you’re making this big decision.” Yaz pulls away, and goes to speak, but Najia holds up a hand to stop her. “I’m not going to say any more. It’s your decision, and, like your father said, I’m going to miss you like nobody’s business, I’m so pleased my daughter knows what she wants, and wants what makes her happy.”

Yaz shoots her mum a watery, wobbly smile. “Thanks, mum. You’re amazin’, you know that?”

“I am expecting to be accommodated when I come down to visit, you realise.” Najia says jokingly, and Yaz nods, sniffing. “You’ve given me an excuse to have a holiday now.”

“Of course.” Yaz says. “Once we figure out where we’re going to live.”

“Can’t you live wherever Jo is now?” Najia questions, a hand coming up to run through Yaz’s hair.

Yaz shrugs. “She lives in an old storage room above the bookshop, didn’t have the motivation to find anywhere more permanent before, but…. She’s already looking into cottages in the village, so there’s that!”

Najia looks bemused, but her face relaxes at the word ‘cottage’, and she lays Yaz’s hair back against her shoulder, satisfied.

“Jo… she seems lovely, not at all what I had in mind after your upset phone call.” She says, and Yaz lets out a relieved breath.

“You can see, then, that that really wasn’t her. She’s not like that.” She replies.

“No, I know. I can tell.” Najia says, agreeing. “She’s a little…. _Odd,_ but there’s nowt wrong with that. And if that makes you love her more…”

Yaz nods. “It does.” She lets out a light laugh. “Besides, dad’s really going to be grateful for her oddness. She loves conspiracies and aliens and all that, too.”

“Oh, no, we might have created something deadly here, Yaz.” Najia says with a good-natured roll of her eyes, and Yaz scoffs, giggling into the night.

“Might be best we get out of here soon enough, then.”

“Well don’t rush yourself, you’ve got a lot to be organising.” Najia replies, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“You can say that again.” Yaz replies, slightly daunted by the long list of things to do in front of her. A short-term pain for long-term pleasure. “But, we’re heading back tomorrow afternoon on the train. I’ve got a meeting with my new boss Wednesday, but I’ll be coming backwards and forwards for a bit. Obviously, once we’ve got a place, I’ll need to move my stuff down.”

What is not in Yaz’s room is all stored in their spare bedroom in boxes. Yaz is quite looking forward to being able to see all her stuff again, find comfort in her things, especially when they are mixed with Jo’s.

“I’m sure ya dad will drive you down with your things once you’re sorted, darling.” Najia replies.

“Thanks mum.” Yaz says, voice laced with deeper meaning, and she pulls herself into a hug once again, soaking in maternal care.

“I’m going to miss you.” Najia confessed into her ear. “But I’ll rest easier knowing you’re happy.”

Yaz squeezes her tighter. “Me too.” 

* * *

Yaz slips back into her bedroom, which is caught in shadow and artificial light which streams from the open window. Jo’s face peers up at her in the dark, squinting slightly without her glasses on. She is wearing pyjamas borrowed from Yaz, tucked up under the sheets, and that sits very well within Yaz’s core. 

“You alright?” She asks, looking up at Yaz as the other woman pulls the curtains shut and switches on her bedside lamp, flooding the room with a warm glow.

“Yeah. You okay?” Yaz replies, pulling back the duvet and tucking herself into the bed next to Jo. She moves her arm up and lets Jo snuggle against her chest.

“Yeah.” Jo replies, her voice gravelly in the late hour. “Your family’s amazin’, Yaz. They’re what I always thought a family would be like, when I were a kid.”

Yaz’s stomach tightens, and to lighten the mood she asks, “What? Even Sonya?”

Jo chuckles. “Yeah. Even Sonya.”

“Well, they’re your family, too, now.” Yaz replies sincerely, pressing a kiss to Jo’s forehead.

Jo hums happily, playing with a strand of Yaz’s hair. “Two families… _brilliant.”_

Yaz squeezes her tighter, nuzzling into the crown of her head. Two hearts to love. Two families to cherish. Two places to call home. Although, Yaz thinks the most precious home will always reside inside their hearts; their two hearts beating, so alive, so strong. Weather-beaten by the storms that came before but never beaten in the true sense, finding their homes in each other, their families in each other, their love in each other. Beating fast and so alive with the promise of each other.

After a peaceful silence, Jo asks, “Yaz?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking, we’ve got some time tomorrow before the train… Can we go visit my old faculty?”

“At the university?” Yaz asks, and Jo nods. “Of course. If you want to do that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been giving it some thought today, and I think it might be nice to go back and see people. Just… so long as they don’t talk about River too much.”

“That’s okay. You can always ask them to stop if they do. Or, if you’re uncomfortable, we can simply leave.” Yaz assures her, and Jo nods, letting out a satisfied and sleepy sigh.

“We’re going to have to get a double bed.” She says sleepily, cutting through Yaz’s doze like a blunt knife to soft cake sponge. “This is nice, but just a little too cramped.”

Yaz laughs, and pulls Jo closer, feeling her own eyes flutter shut as the weight of the day bears down on her in exhaustion. It is a contented weight, though, and Yaz knows that when she wakes her whole life stands in front of her, ready for the taking.

Her life with Jo. 

* * *

Yaz has been on the University of Sheffield campus a few times to deal with some call-ins, but she is a complete stranger to where Jo leads her hand in hand the next morning.

It is a red-brick building with an impressive, impervious presence as if it is old academia objectified. Large gothic windows and a small tower with turrets loom down at Yaz dauntingly, and she feels herself soothed by Jo’s lack of intimidation as she leads them through the grand oaken doors which remind Yaz of something from a medieval illustration. That makes her feel better.

“This could be in one of those Arthurian legends.” She states. “Impressive enough.”

“I know. It’s dead fancy. Too fancy for me, if I’m honest.” Jo says. “Thought it would surprise me, being back here, feel different but, now I’m back it’s all very familiar. Strange. Feels weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” Yaz asks her as she allows Jo to guide her inside, the light dimming considerably in the grand entrance foyer. There is the archaic smell one gets from old buildings, along with a faint whiff of coffee you find on every university campus, and grand pillars and vaulted ceilings greet them, a grand sweeping staircase stretching the space just beyond.

“Hmm, not sure. Bit of both.” Jo confesses, anxiety marking its path around the tight corners of her mouth, the stress in her eyes, and Yaz tightens her hand hold.

“Which way is it?” She asks, and Jo points down the hallway to her left.

“This way.” She says, and swallows, setting her shoulders backwards and straightening her spine. “Allonsy.”

Yaz does not question the French, and simply allows Jo to guide her through another set of double doors and down corridor after corridor, a forest green carpet at their feet and the murmuring of voices surrounding them. It is quiet, being August, the first semester has not started yet and no students are required on campus, but there is still a life to the building, a buzz. They have ascended a staircase and gone through another set of doors before Jo stops, slightly out of breath from their fast pace, and she lets out a long breath, foot tapping restlessly against the floor.

“This is it.” She says, looking up and down the corridor. The closed oak doors, the names embossed on plaques, the papers taped to noticeboards notifying of consultation hours and talks. “Department of Astrophysics. Lecturer’s offices.”

“Wow.” Yaz says, peering around. The grandness has followed them here, too. “Which one used to be your office?”

“That one down there.” Jo says, slowly leading them down the corridor. She walks cautiously, a little unsure of herself, and it must feel like stepping in the footsteps of another life to her. She walks slowly, but confidently, as if regaining her footing, not running from it. Yaz follows faithfully.

A door to their right opens, and a middle aged woman with long braided hair, sleek and styled, steps out, looking down at the papers in her hand as she shuts her door behind her. Jo freezes, a rabbit caught in the headlights, and the woman must catch sight of them out of the corner of her eye, as she glances up, eyes moving away before darting back to Jo as recognition hits her, and they widen. Delight paints itself over her face.

“Jo!” She exclaims. “You’re- you- what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Ruth.” Jo says, a little unsure of herself, lacking her usual pep. “Just here visitin’.”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Ruth exclaims. She holds her arms up. “May I?”

Jo gives her a tight-lipped smile and nods, and the other woman draws her into a tight hug. When they pull back, she keeps her hands on Jo’s arms, looking her up and down. “It really is lovely to see you, Jo. We’ve all missed you.”

Jo gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve missed this place. Not much has changed.”

“No, no it hasn’t. We’ve got a new member of staff on the faculty, but he’s not a spot on you, kid.” Ruth says with fond affection. “No one can do lectures like you.”

Jo smiles awkwardly, and Ruth’s eyes travel sideways to Yaz, not able to conceal her intrigue. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, this- sorry, Yaz.” Jo says, putting a hand to Yaz’s shoulder. “This is Yasmin Khan. Yaz is a sergeant in the police, and… she’s my girlfriend.” Jo says, and she holds her breath after that next statement, waiting for Ruth’s reaction. Yaz feels as if the air around them has stopped moving.

Ruth’s eyes widen with surprise, and then widen some more, before her cheeks practically tear with the smile that graces her face, and she cannot help but pull Jo into another hug. “Oh, darling! I’m so happy for you, so happy…”

Yaz can hear the other woman sniffing, and Jo pats her on the back, looking slightly harried as she shoots a look at Yaz. When she pulls away, Ruth turns to Yaz and gives her a vigorous handshake. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” She mutters. “John’s in, do you want me to go and get him?”

Jo nods, looking more relaxed after Ruth’s acceptance of Yaz. “That’d be nice.”

The next hour is a reunion to soothe the soul, and Yaz feels warmed from the inside as she witnesses the delight on Jo’s ex-colleagues’ faces as they see her and are introduced to Yaz, understanding the larger implications of her presence and being delighted on Jo’s behalf. Once Ruth had knocked on John’s door, it seemed the whole faculty poked their heads out to see what commotion was happening in the corridor, and Yaz and Jo had been swarmed by academics like ducks to water. River’s name is mentioned, but it is not used in vein nor is it said in to incite any kind of deeper discussion or probing; they are happy enough to see that Jo is beginning to move on.

What strikes Yaz the most is how much older all of Jo’s colleagues seem to be, with only one who seems to be close to her in age. The rest are tinged grey with the years they have seen. She has never really taken into account how clever Jo really must be; she has never doubted it, but seeing her colleagues fawning over her like this makes Yaz feel incredibly proud and incredibly privileged to be her girlfriend.

They leave after just over an hour to pats on the backs and handshakes, Ruth giving Jo one last hug before seeing her off. Jo looks slightly overwhelmed, windswept by the whirlwind of attention she has just received, but the anxiety which had marred her face before is gone, and she entwines her fingers with Yaz’s as they head back down the stairs.

“How was that?” Yaz asks her.

“It was good.” Jo replies positively. “It’s… I left so suddenly, I never got to say a proper goodbye, and I always wondered whether I’d regret the decision to leave.”

“And do you?”

“No, not really. I miss it, but… I couldn’t have done with all _that_ for much longer in the circumstances.” Jo answers truthfully. “I miss the job. I love what I did, s’why I’ve got the doctorate, but… I don’t regret it, and I don’t think I’d want to come back. It’s like… I’ve been able to make peace with that part of all that happened after River. I can walk out of here feeling a little lighter.”

“Good. I’m glad. Really glad.” Yaz replies, and she quickly pecks Jo’s cheek. The other woman flushes, pleased.

“We’d better get a shift on. That took much longer than I thought.”

“We’re alright.” Yaz says, checking her phone for the time as they step out into the daylight of Sheffield once more. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

* * *

They take a long stroll around Sheffield after, making the most of stretching their legs before spending hours on trains, and with Yaz suddenly overcome with a nostalgia to have one last look over the city she has called her home since birth. Her heart grows fonder for all it has done for her, in a strange sense, how being within the city and then without the city has shown her the path to take, the woman she is, and taking in familiar buildings and scenery she commits them to memory, to a mental photo album. She feels confident, as though her feet are drifting above the ground as she surveys the city- _her_ city, letting it pass her by, old wounds no longer cutting so deep. As she had said before, she is scarred, but no longer scared.

Her focus is on the hand in hers and the city sprawling below them as they slowly make their way uphill toward Park Hill, so when Jo suddenly inhales sharply and comes to a stop next to her, it takes Yaz a moment to realise anything is wrong.

She turns with concern to see Jo staring with single-minded focus at something which rests on the other side of the street, something laying beyond rusty iron gates and towering stone pillars. _Sheffield General Cemetery._

Yaz watches her partner for a moment, the way she swallows, throat bobbing, eyes flickering across the frontage which opens up onto the site; Yaz can see headstones beyond in neat lines, the odd person come to pay their respects.

Eventually she asks, “Is that where…?” Trailing off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Jo shakes her head, wetting her lips with her tongue as she blinks rapidly, coming back to herself. “No. No, we didn’t…. we ummm, we scattered her ashes, in loads of places. Didn’t feel right to consign her to one place, almost like she were trapped. Like a… a prison, of sorts. But, there is a small stone plaque in there with her name on it.”

Yaz’s eyes narrow at Jo’s phrasing; it is a little to innocuous for one talking about the commemoration of their wife. “Do you want to….?” She suggests, gesturing with her free hand towards the cemetery.

Jo hesitates for a moment more, this surely must have been what she had been pondering when she had come to a sudden stop, before her eyes glance to Yaz, looking to her partner for reassurance as she says, “No. I don’t think I do. That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” Yaz assures her, placing her free hand on Jo’s arm, squeezing the hand clutched in her own.

“Only, I don’t want to remember her through seeing her name on a bit of rock.” Jo says, lip curling slightly. She shrugs. “I know it works for some people, but… I prefer to see her in the stars.”

Yaz nods, watching Jo’s eyes travel back to the graveyard as she says, almost wistfully, “I’ve never liked goodbyes. The nature of stone seems so final, solid. Whereas the stars…”

“It’s more eternal, isn’t it?” Yaz finishes for her. Jo smiles gratefully.

“Yeah. Yeah it is. Suits her more.”

“Then, I think that it’s completely fine.” Yaz says. Jo’s eyes turn back to the cemetery once more, but her shoulders have relaxed, and pushing them back, she turns to Yaz with a nod, and begins to walk again, knowing it is not goodbye, it is only…. Setting her own boundaries and choices.

This time in the stars, not in stone. 

* * *

Things move at a rapid pace after that, and Yaz feels like she is constantly sprinting to keep up. She essentially packs all she had unpacked from her suitcase back into her suitcase once more, along with some more clothing to last her a long while, seeing as she has yet to make plans as to when she will be back in Sheffield, and she and Jo hop on their first connection back to Cornwall after a sentimental farewell from Yaz’s family. They spend the seven hours either sleeping or challenging each other to a game of Scrabble, Jo having bought a portable version from the station bookshop with a delighted grin. When the train finally pulls into Bodmin station, night is falling and Jo is dozing on Yaz’s shoulder, jolting awake as the train itself jolts to a stop. Yaz leads her off of it and into Grace’s car with an amused smile, keen to keep Jo sleepy so that she does not have to deal with the fully conscious ramifications of being in a car, a necessary step towards getting back to the village. Grace had been delighted when they had phoned asking for a lift, and she is even more delighted when they slip into the car.

Jo snoozes on Yaz’s shoulder the whole way.

When Yaz wakes the next morning, in her room in Bill’s cottage, a figure caught in shadows and silhouettes greets her as she blinks bleary sleep crusted eyes. The light outside is wan, on the cusp of sunrise, and Yaz stirs herself, concern surging in her at the sight of Jo stood in stillness, one hand gently curled around the edge of the curtain, staring out of the window.

The last time Yaz had awoken to the other woman silhouetted in solitude, there had followed secrecy and spectres and shattering speeches, and Yaz feels for a moment, sleep still lingering, a fear deep inside of her. The last time, she had tried to reach out to Jo, but had fallen into slumber before she could, and so this time, she shuffles herself up in bed a bit and calls out, “Jo?”

Jo turns, and there is a small smile on her face.

“What are you doing?” Yaz asks her, voice mumbling, croaky with sleep. Jo’s eyes soften and her smile widens at the sight and sound of her partner caught in wooziness. She pads back over to the bed, pulling the curtain shut behind her, and clambers back under the covers, encouraging Yaz to lie down properly once again. She curls her arms around Yaz’s shoulders and Yaz allows herself to snuggle close into Jo’s body, feeling her warmth, her brightness; not a shadow at all. Her eyes linger lazily on Jo’s face, sleep tugging at her lids, but the look on Jo’s face compels her to force them open for a little while longer.

Jo’s joy is exposed and fresh with early morning bliss, an innocent kind of joy which Yaz has seen little of in the months they have known each other, but she realises now she might be seeing much more from this moment on.

“What?” Yaz prompts her, yawning, as Jo’s eyes trace over her face, as if committing Yaz to memory. Her smile widens. “What you looking at?”

“Home.” Jo replies, the word soft and sentimental and light in its saying. “My home.” 

The next steps towards sorting out her new position go surprisingly smoothly on calm waters, and Yaz is swept at an easy pace along the current as she meets with Donna, who is practically buzzing with excitement, no matter how hard she tries to remain professional. The Wadebridge constabulary is much smaller than Sheffield, but Yaz feels comfortable within smaller walls, as if, ironically, there is more room for her to grow. She is going to have to make a couple more journeys back to Sheffield, to finalise the very last things and to move her belongings down, with Bill’s assurance they can be stored in her cottage for now. She also promises that Yaz and Jo can stay at hers for as long as they need if they so desire (‘as long as you don’t have really loud sex’). And when Yaz’s head stops spinning from so much talking and organising, she finds it clear and calm.

Being back in Kennock Cove is…. well, like coming home. From the water, to the air, to the earth, everything is like a familial embrace, and Yaz breathes it all and lets it sink into her from the inside, feeling at peace. The skies are clear, the sea calm and flat like crisp bed sheets; no storms bother them.

She also receives literal hugs from family members. Jack mocks salutes her, and Rory shakes her hand, Graham gathers her in a grandfatherly embrace, Ryan spins her around until Yaz smacks his arms to get him to put her down, and Amy really does kiss her, this time, a quick peck on the lips. It is surprisingly good, and Yaz squirms when Amy winks at her, Jo’s face scandalised.

Oscar seethes, but says nothing.

Spreading her books out on the bedside table in Bill’s cottage feels natural, instinctive, the books themselves seeming to say to her that this is where they belong. She and Jo will begin their cottage search at the weekend, the other woman already having eyed up a small cottage on Graham and Grace’s street, but for now this room and this cottage is enough, reminding them both of where they began and of their new beginnings together.

Jo sees Sarah-Jane twice that week, and she pulls Yaz into the bathtub again after the first session, and she curls herself into Yaz’s embrace; they do not say much, Jo only letting her know that Sarah-Jane thought returning to Sheffield and her old faculty was a good step- a good one, but a _big_ one, and that Jo should be easy on herself for the next few days and let the people she trusts know if she begins to feel wobbly. Yaz assures her she will always be there to help her keep balance, and when Jo replies ‘I know you will,’ soft and sure, Yaz herself is sure she has never felt so supported, either, as they sit in the still waters of the bathtub, _together,_ steady and quite ready for what might come next _._

Yaz’s touch grounds Jo, and it is enough, and it is progress. They are swimming with the current, and whilst Yaz knows that the waters will get choppy, and that the waves may rise above their heads and that they will have to hold their breath and push their way through, they will be doing so together, and everything they have together now feels like a lifesaver ready for them to latch onto; a stability they both need to get through the surge.

And besides, their love is the biggest wave, rising with the strongest force, a rising tide turned into a tsunami of power which will overcome any swirl which threatens them. And in its all-encompassing nature, it makes sure that they do not lose sight of all that has brought them forward towards the shore, towards the harbour, all the rocks which the wave bends to and are shaped in their turn by that wave into something beautiful, into something to be remembered, and cherished, not to run from, not to be scared of; they are solid in their importance, in their presence. The tide will ebb and flow as Jo and Yaz discover their multitudes, but they are their waves to make, their tides to control.

The tides will rise, but Jo and Yaz will rise with them.

They stay up Friday night, sitting on the harbour front, neither sleeping, finding a moment of stillness with each other after the hectic organisation and preparation that has brought them to what they have wanted, the weekend ahead of them, house-hunting for a life together ahead of them.

They peer up at the constellations in the sky, scattered like a glorious cloak of the universe above them, whilst the waves lap calmly by their feet. Jo points out the most interesting ones.

“Look, there’s Eridanus.” She says with wonder. “It looks like a River.”

“It’s beautiful.” Yaz replies.

Jo takes her hand and does not let go. Not even when dawn peeks its head over the horizon, as if asking for their permission, wondering whether they are ready to face the day.

 _We’re ready,_ Yaz thinks.

They watch the sunrise, hand in hand.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I won't lie and say I didn't cry writing this and re-reading it, even if it makes me feel a little arrogant, I have to say I am incredibly proud of this story, and want to thank you all so much for your support throughout as I took Yaz and Jo on this journey. I tried to give this chapter a final feel, a sense of wrapping up and coming together, which I hope came across. 
> 
> Final update, then, on Thursday, being the epilogue- what a bittersweet thing that's going to be- but until then!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	38. Epilogue (One Year Later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone- that's all i'm going to say now- i'll speak more after the epilogue. 
> 
> Please enjoy 😊

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Yaz watches the waves catch at the edges of the dinghy, chasing them to the shore like eager dogs lapping at the sides. She keeps a firm grip on the rope which lines the dinghy, legs braced as she perches on one of the bright rubber sides, Martha across from her and Jack driving the dinghy into shore, revving the engine as they get closer to signal to Ryan the boat is coming in. Yaz brings a hand up to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun on the water to see if she can spot anyone waiting for her on the harbour- or should she say, a certain someone, but it is to no avail; the sunlight catches at the water and makes a mirror of it, and instead Yaz turns her gaze to her left hand side.

She traces the movement of the water on the horizon as it dips and dives, rising up at times as if to caress the sky, brief touches in passing. Ebbing and flowing, dipping and diving, and yet calm and soothing, not upsetting the equilibrium. That is certainly how she feels in her life now, as if she is bobbing along at a pleasant speed, and when a current comes along and carries the water into higher and choppier movement it is not the end of the world, it is simply dealt with and appeased until the waters turn calm again. And yet she does not begrudge the rising tide, for it is natural, and so is her ability to turn that tide right back around again.

Everything is as it should be, as natural as breathing.

Yaz lets out a long sigh as she tips her head back and breathes in the smell of sea-air, salt tinged with the slightly bitter twang of seaweed. It smells like home. Yaz is sure this is where she was always meant to end up.

“Good job todays guys!” Jack praises as they edge nearer to the harbour and he can bring the engine down to a low thrumming gurgle as Ryan comes out onto the jetty in the land rover with the frame on the back they lower into the water and drive the dinghy onto; he is working on getting better at the hand-eye coordination, and had accepted the challenge gladly. “Think that was our best training session yet!”

“S’all ‘cause of Yaz!” Martha praises her, shooting her a kind smile, and Yaz waves away her compliment.

“The whole point is that we’re a team!” She protests.

“True, but since you joined the team has definitely improved!” Martha replies, and Yaz swallows down another protest, taking the compliment. If that is what Martha thinks, then she is glad to have made such an impact. It makes her feel stronger in herself.

Yaz had signed up to the coastguard in the spring, giving herself a few months to settle into her new job and position in the police force in Wadebridge, and she has not regretted that decision since; Jack is a sure and steady leader, all flirtatious quips set to the side in the face of saving lives at sea, and he has respected and guided Yaz through the technicalities and practicalities. Yaz’s police training has helped a lot with her progress, although it is completely new ground- well, water- for her, and she feels sure of herself and her position as part of the coastguard.

“Always knew Yaz was brave, didn’t we, Martha?” Jack quips from over his shoulder. He concentrates on driving the dinghy into the correct position and then they wait until Ryan has submerged the frame into the water. “Wouldn’t have expected any less.”

He looks to Yaz with a knowing and kind look in his eyes, and Yaz understands what he is alluding to, how the both of them had stood only a few feet away from where they are now, just over a year ago, watching a woman launch herself into the water in her desperation, and Yaz’s instinctive chase to save her.

As natural as breathing, it had been then. And every moment with that woman since has been just as natural.

“Good to have you on the team, Yaz!” Martha exclaims, and Jack makes a noise of agreement. Yaz smiles, grateful for her team, grateful for her friends. Grateful for this place.

Before long Ryan has reversed the platform into the shallows and Jack is guiding the dinghy onto it, and Yaz and Martha slide themselves out of the dinghy, Yaz’s trousers squeaking against the rubber quality of its bright orange nose. Her feet slop into the shallow water, and she strides forward onto the jetty, water dragging behind her welly boots, and she stamps them to shake off the worst of it before she tramps too much saltwater into the station.

A small crowd of visitors has gathered around the coastguard team’s return to Kennock Cove harbour, it is after all the summer, and being August the summer holidays, many excited children and weary-looking parents watch on as Ryan and Jack get the dinghy into place and begin to drag it back up to the station, Martha and Yaz clearing the way as they go. Yaz sighs and stretches out her back, a satisfactory tiredness filling her limbs and in her mind. The evening is beginning to primp and preen itself for the appearance of the moon, slowly guiding the sun towards the horizon and tinging the sky in hues of pink and orange, so vibrant Yaz wants to taste them. Yaz is looking forward to getting home and spending a long evening in with her girlfriend doing absolutely nothing at all except enjoying each other’s presence.

Yaz is just helping Martha pull the station doors closed, the proverbial tucking the dinghy into bed, when she hears an all too familiar voice calling her name, and she turns with a smile.

There she is.

Jo is walking at a fast pace towards her, a tote bag slung over one shoulder which bounces against her side as she moves quickly through the crowds of people. Her blonde hair is catching the sunlight, as it always does, and as it brushes her shoulders it glows with a radiance Yaz has always noticed and will never get bored of; her cheeks are flushed and face also glowing. Yaz laughs as she watches her bump into a large man and stumble a little, apologising to him with raised hands and a bashful expression, before she continues on her way to Yaz, pulling a face at her own clumsiness.

“That.” She says. “Is the third time I’ve done that on the way down here.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Yaz says with a cocked eyebrow as Jo comes to a stop before her, a little breathless from her quick walk down from Tardis Books. She pulls a face of mock indignation at Yaz and then looks her over, searching to make sure she is okay, Yaz knows; Jo understands and respects Yaz’s drive to be a part of the coastguard team, but she worries about Yaz getting hurt nonetheless, on rough waters saving lives, something she has confided to Yaz and which they have been able to work on between themselves, so that they do not come to blows about Yaz putting herself in danger like she does, what with the police work as well. Although, when Yaz’s beeper goes off at three in the morning it does come very close to mutiny when Jo practically begs her not to leave the warmth of their bed. She is always more understanding in the daylight, however.

When Jo’s eyes return to Yaz’s face, satisfied she has come to no harm, she lets out a long breath, smiling softly at Yaz from tired eyes. “What a day.”

“You can say that again.” Yaz agrees. “Jack really put us through our paces.”

“You did well, though, right? Can’t imagine you not doing well.” Jo asks her, and Yaz nods her confirmation.

“Yeah. We did great.”

“Knew it.” Jo grins, and her gaze flickers from Yaz’s eyes to her lips, and then with annoyance to the helmet Yaz still has on, the visor popped up. “Can’t kiss you when you have that thing on.”

“Oh, well, by all means,” Yaz says, and makes a dramatic effort of pulling her helmet from her head, holding it in the crook between her elbow and her torso on one side whilst she pulls her hair from its bun with the opposite hand and allows her long hair to cascade like a jet black waterfall down her back and around her shoulders. She smirks at the dumbstruck expression on Jo’s face.

The other woman swallows thickly. “That’s not fair, we’re in public.”

Yaz raises her eyebrows and carefully puts her helmet down on the ground beside her. “Is that a challenge?”

“Err…” Jo groans, blinking bemusedly, and Yaz waits not a second longer before she steps forward and takes the other woman in her arms.

“You ready?” She asks, but she moves before Jo can answer, mischievous grin on her face as she dips Jo, one hand on the small of her back and the other on the back of her neck, and brings their lips crashing together, the surprised sound Jo makes swallowed by the motion. Yaz pulls Jo’s body to her with the strength of her arms, supple and muscular with all the physical work she does both for her job and the coastguard, and draws the kiss out until she is sure the earth must have done a full rotation and a day passed when they finally break apart.

Jo looks flustered, cheeks flushed, as she trusts in Yaz to hold her. She always does. “Ew, Yaz, now I’m covered in sea water stuff too!” She protests, but it is half-hearted at best, and her hands comes to rest easily on Yaz’s arms as the other woman’s long hair drapes across the both of them, shielding them, just about, from anyone else’s view.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get those clothes off of you soon enough.” Yaz quips, practically bursting with confidence. Here she is, the woman she loves in her arms, having had a successful day with people who value her, whilst she has a day off from a job where she finally feels worthwhile, finally feels like she is making a difference.

“Did you take some confidence pills today or something?” Jo asks her, eyes roaming over Yaz’s face.

“No, just really looking forward to getting home and spending the evening with you and only you.” Yaz replies, and Jo smiles softly, leaning forward as much as she can to press their lips together for a gentle kiss.

“How was the bookshop today?” She asks Jo as she finally allows the other woman up, sweeping them upright in one swift movement, not letting go of Jo until she is firmly situated back on her feet.

“Busy.” Jo says, rummaging in her tote bag for something. “Barely had time to think, let alone eat. Although, I did get to the shop on my lunch break.”

She pulls out a packet of custard creams, opening the packet with the skilful art of someone who buys approximately four of them a week; the woman in the shop has made her a custard cream loyalty card, and Yaz is fairly certain their next packet might be free.

“Want one? Had to stock up in the shop.” Jo offers, holding the open packet out to Yaz.

Yaz shakes her head and Jo shrugs and stuffs a whole custard cream in her mouth. Yaz looks down at her tote, which looks suspiciously empty.

“Jo…. Did you get the ingredients I asked for?” Yaz asks, and Jo stops chewing, her eyes widening comically. She looks to Yaz sheepishly.

“Ahh…” She says through a mouthful of biscuit, and Yaz sighs.

“Jo! I told you I were going to make us a spag bol tonight and I needed the onions and sauce for it!” She complains, but her heart is not really in it and her body is fatigued; the thought of standing around in the kitchen not filling her with joy. She looks at Jo, and Jo looks at her, the other woman swallowing her biscuit, and at the same time both of them say, “Pizza?”

“Pizza.” They both then repeat in confirmation, and Jo stuffs another, triumphant custard cream in her mouth.

“You get away with too much.” Yaz comments jokingly as she pulls Jo closer to her, the other woman clutching her packet of custard creams to her body.

“I bet your muscles are sore from a day on the boat. I could give you a massage as an apology?” Jo offers with raised eyebrows and a knowing look. Yaz hums, considering this, pretending to look over her partner with suspicion.

“But you enjoy giving me massages, I don’t think you’d mean that apology…” She says sceptically.

“Oh, well then I could show you in other ways?” Jo says, eyebrows still raised.

Yaz runs her tongue over her lips, edging closer. “Oh yeah? In what way?”

Jo watches the movement of her tongue for a moment before her eyes return to Yaz’s, and she pauses for a long moment before she rustles the packet she still holds and brings it up in between them. “Custard cream?”

Yaz lets out a burst of laughter, shaking her head at the same time. Jo looks delighted, dimples denting her cheeks, and shoves another custard cream in her mouth victoriously. Yaz relents and takes one herself, and the sugary burst of crumbling goodness feels satisfying after hours on the boat. Suddenly she is starving.

“Let me go and get changed. Won’t be a minute.” Jo nods and lets Yaz go.

“I’m just going to pop and see Amy for a moment, just need to ask her a question about the book.” Jo says, already walking backwards towards Pond’s Pastries, the café’s frontage an emerald glow in the late afternoon sun.

“Jo, look out!” Yaz calls, but it is too late, and Jo bumps into a man walking towards her, stumbling forwards a little before turning to offer the man a sheepish apology. The man grunts and rolls his eyes, and Jo shoots Yaz a wide-eyed look. Yaz giggles back.

 _Never change, Jo,_ she thinks.

Changing is always a slightly uncomfortable experience when you are damp with seawater, and pulling her waterproof coastguard uniform off feels to Yaz like peeling off a rubbery second skin. Throwing her shirt and jean shorts on afterwards is a welcome reprieve after spending the day in bulky layers, and shoving her feet into flipflops Yaz neatly hangs her uniform before grabbing her tote bag and heading out the door.

She knocks on the coastguard station door which leads through to the garage housing the dinghy, and pulls the door open, intending to simply wish Jack and Ryan goodbye, Martha has a night shift at the hospital and Yaz is sure she has probably already whizzed off. She falters in the doorway for a moment at the sight which greets her, before letting out a long, loud sigh which causes the two men in front of her, who had been engaged in a passionate kiss, to break apart.

“If I’d known you were going to be this icky, I’d never have encouraged you, Ry.” She says good naturedly as a sheepish looking Ryan and a smug looking Jack hold each other in their arms, slightly out of breath from their ministrations.

“Aw come on, Yaz, don’t say you’re not pleased for us.” Jack teases her with a wink, and Yaz snorts, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t say I’m not pleased, but I hate to think what I might have walked into had I been here five minutes later.” Yaz replies, looking between the both of them with raised eyebrows.

“Mate, you and Jo are just as bad.” Ryan argues. “And we don’t complain.” 

“Just… don’t do it on the boat, please, or you’re cleaning it afterwards.” Yaz says, caught out by Ryan’s point; she and Jo are not exactly chaste with each other, Yaz’s demonstrations outside only ten minutes earlier testament to that, although Yaz would not say their overtly inappropriate in public…. They’re just in love, what is wrong with that?

“Yes, Sergeant.” Jack says, giving Yaz a mock salute, and Yaz shakes her head wearily but shoots them a weary smile.

“Have a good evening, lovebirds.” She says, and turns to leave, dragging the door closed behind her.

“Enjoy your evening with Jo!” Ryan calls behind her in a teasing tone and Yaz sighs, rolling her eyes but smiling widely.

Life is good.

Exiting the coastguard station, the pavement outside is bereft of Jo, and a quick sweep of the surrounding area does not show any signs of her; she must still be with Amy. Yaz’s eyes lock, for a brief moment, with Oscar’s, who is stood across the street, and he sends her a cold look, not of hate, per say, but maybe…. Intolerance. Yaz shoots him a sickly-sweet smile in return, looking him up and down and giving him a thumbs up at his outfit.

Oscar had ended his pursuit in bike hire earlier that year, introducing them all to his new venture… ice cream selling. Now, instead of being stood under a gazebo, he stands under a small parasol attached to a cart carrying many varieties and flavours of ice cream, his small hut now storing fridges full of ice creams. Upon his smoothed-back black hair sits a small white hat, and he has a very fetching apron covering his precious Dolce and Gabbana. Strangely, it does suit him, if not his personality.

Oscar pulls a face at her as he shoves a scoop of ice cream onto a cone for a waiting child, shoving it in the infant’s direction; how he ever gets business Yaz does not know, but things between them and him are, at least, stable, if not harmonious.

If Yaz were to think in terms of their family, he is the uncle that no one really talks to, but they put up with him, nonetheless.

Leaving Oscar to his seething and serving, Yaz strolls along the harbour front to Pond’s Pastries, pushing open the door and stepping inside with a small ring of the bell above the door.

“Sorry, we’re just cl- oh, hi Yaz!” Rory says, looking up from where he had been wiping a table. The café is vacant of customers, and compared to the still buzzing and busy seafront it is a nice change, and Yaz lets out a long breath, stepping forwards into the shop.

“Hey, how was service today?” She asks Rory politely as he chucks the cloth over his shoulder and heads for behind the counter.

“Busy. Amy near murdered this woman who would not stop complaining about her coffee.” He says with a weary shake of his head.

Yaz smirks. “So, the usual, then?”

Rory shoots her a grin, beginning to gather the last remaining pastries in the display case on to a tray. “They’re just upstairs, they’ll be down in a few.”

Yaz nods, letting her hip rest against the counter as she absent-mindedly watches Rory whilst she waits for Jo. Her and Amy have undertaken a project to write a new and more in-depth book on the history of Kennock Cove and the surrounding area, jumping on the success of Amy’s last book; Jo helps Amy research whilst Amy writes the content. It has been both amusing and heart-warming to see the two best friend’s engage in something between themselves which occupies their minds with and has helped both of them begin to heal from all that has happened in the past two years, finally spending some time together on something they are both passionate about and they know will draw on both their strengths and skills. Although things get heated sometimes when they do not agree on something, and Yaz makes herself scarce on those occasions if she is in the room with them.

Speaking of…

“Amy, no, we _need_ that part, her family is an important part of the village’s history.” Jo is saying, their voices getting louder as they descend the stairs.

“Oh come on, Jo, she’s not even going to read it!” Amy replies.

“She might!” Jo bites back as they round the corner and appear in the café, Jo appearing with a lot less drama than Amy, who’s long hair flies like a ginger streak through the air as the turns to the other woman in irritation.

“She won’t!”

“What’s going on?” Yaz dares to ask as Amy and Jo huff, both women practically turning away from each other in their disagreement.

“Amy does not think we should put the history of Mrs Grose’s tea shop in the book because of a personal dislike, which is _wholly_ unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Amy says, eyebrows raised, Scottish fury alight in her eyes. “You want to talk about unprofessional? The woman’s dandruff goes in her produce!”

“That is really rank.” Yaz has to agree. To this day she has never tried a baked good from Mrs Grose (well, barring Amy’s birthday cake from her party last year, when she and Jo had shared their drunken mistake of a kiss). Rory looks between his wife and his best friend, hesitating to say something, Yaz can tell. Eventually he does, and stuffing a few pastries into a paper bag, he says, “Amy, imagine if River were here right now. She’d be really cross at you for even _considering_ leaving out any single important fact.”

Jo gestures to Rory as if to say, ‘See! He gets it’. “We can’t leave her out of the book just because she’s a hygiene standards nightmare. That is not ethical. And that’s re-writing history.” She tilts her head, lowering a voice an octave. “River really would have hated that.”

Amy purses her lips together like she is sucking on a sour lemon, and Yaz can practically see the cogs working in her head as she admits to herself that Jo and Rory are right. Finally, she speaks, “Five hundred words on her.”

“A thousand.” Jo raises the stakes.

“Seventy-hundred and fifty.” Amy shoots back.

Jo hesitates for a second. “Deal.”

“Fine!” Amy crosses her arms over her chest.

“Good.” Jo says, nodding her head victoriously. She lightly punches Amy on the arm, and the other woman shoots daggers her way. Jo grins. “I always win.”

“No, you don’t.” Amy says, and leans closer to Jo, patting her on the shoulder. “Because you’re going to be the one to interview her and ask if she has any old family pictures we can use.”

Yaz shoots Rory a grin as she sees Jo’s face scrunch up in annoyance for a moment before it smooths out and she shrugs, trying to look casual and unbothered. “Fine. That’s fine. I’ll win her over. I’m charming, I am. She’s going to be so impressed by my…. Charisma.”

Amy gives her a long look, cocking an eyebrow. Jo shakes her head as if to say ‘what’, and looks to Yaz and Rory for support, but when they both just look back at her, Yaz fighting to keep the amused and fond smile from her face, she sighs, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll drag Jack along.”

“Thank you.” Amy says, pinching Jo’s cheek, and the other woman bats her away, looking aggrieved but Yaz can see she is not actually annoyed; she has, after all, got her way, in one sense or the other.

“Here, some pain au chocolat as compensation. Left over from today.” Rory says, handing Jo a paper bag, which she grateful takes with a sound of delight. She goes to open it and take a bite, but Yaz puts a hand to her movement to stop it.

“You’ll ruin dinner.” She tells her, taking the paper bag from her and putting it in her own bag. Jo pouts but relents, and Yaz ignores her sliding another custard cream into her mouth; Yaz knows she keeps them in her pockets.

“Right, go away, me and Rory are having the evening in.” Amy says to them, hustling them towards the door, Rory giving them a small wave. 

“Their _sex_ night.” Jo says to Yaz with raised eyebrows.

Yaz frowns. “What, you _don’t_ want to have sex tonight?”

Jo falters, tripping over a chair leg. “That’s not what I said. Yaz, that’s definitely not what I said.”

Yaz laughs at her desperation, letting her out of her misery. “I know, babe. I were kidding.”

Amy makes a noise of disgust. “Ugh, go already, will you? You’re like a pair of horny teenagers.”

“Oh, what, and you and Rory aren’t?” Jo retorts, already at the door, bell ringing as she pulls it open.

“No, what we do in the bedroom has been perfected after years’ worth of practice.” Amy replies with confident, a suave smirk on her face, and Yaz and Jo share a look of alarm before they practically throw themselves out of the door, Amy waving a manicured hand in farewell as she closes and locks the door behind them.

“Depraved. Both of them.” Jo says as they begin to stroll along the seafront, hands coming to clasp other instinctively.

With the sun behind them, Yaz and Jo head up the main street from the harbour, strolling at a gentle pace, letting groups of tourists heading back to their cars pass them by, in their own little world. Their bubble is popped only when they reach Tardis Books and are greeted by Grace, who is locking up, who sends them a warm smile.

“Hello, loves.” She says, turning to them as she pockets the keys, giving one last experimental tug on the door to check it is closed. “How was training Yaz?”

Yaz nods as the other woman joins them on the pavement, and they all begin to walk up the small alley which leads to the street behind the bookshop together. “It was good. Jack put us through our paces.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask you yesterday.” Grace says suddenly, turning to look at Yaz as they ascend the small hill, cobble stones uneven under their feet. Yaz holds Jo’s arm as she trips. “Would your parents like to come round for a meal when they come down? Doesn’t have to be big or fancy, could be a light lunch, but thought it might be nice for us to meet them.”

“Oh, that would be lovely!” Yaz exclaims. “If you’re sure, Grace?”

“’Course I’m sure.” Grace says. “I’m looking forward to meeting the people who raised such a wonderful young woman.”

Yaz smiles bashfully, cheeks tinging pink.

“Where are they staying?” Grace asks as they make it to the second street, her and Graham’s cottage sitting one cottage in, greeting its owner with the bright pots and plants on the small slate wall outside, small porcelain figures of frogs decorating the outside; Jo and Yaz had bought Grace the one which sits proudly waving on the end for her birthday in May, having been told by Graham she has a love for the small amphibians.

“At Bill’s. We did think about having them with us, but it just makes more sense for them to have their own space.” Yaz replies. Bill is still in Sheffield, and, after the success of Yaz’s visit, had decided to rent her cottage out for holiday-makers, earning herself a steady income as bookings have come flowing in for such a picturesque spot. She and Jo had considered it when they were first looking for a home together but had decided it would be too big for them, and that Bill should rent it out to make money for herself.

“Good plan. Nowt worse than everyone wanting to use the bathroom at the same time.” Grace says as they come to a stop in front of her cottage.

“No, and we wouldn’t have been able to have sex.” Jo says matter of factly, and Yaz smacks her lightly on the arm as Grace gasps and begins to laugh, shaking her head fondly. Jo realises her mistake, rubbing her arm. “Tact. Right…”

“You keep working on that, love.” Grace says kindly, patting her sore arm.

“Grace, love-” A voice suddenly calls as Grace’s front door swings open, and Graham steps out, looking at the few pamphlets he holds in his hand; he must have heard his wife’s voice, but he looks up and starts a little with surprise to see Yaz and Jo also stood on his doorstep. “Oh- hello, cockles.”

Jo and Yaz nod their greeting to Graham.

“Grace, just wanted to run these holiday coupons by you,” Graham says, shuffling the pamphlets, which Yaz now sees display in bold and eye-catching, thought slightly lurid, fonts deals on holidays abroad with pictures of sunny beaches of the Bahamas and exotic ports and cities. “I’ve been thinking, we’d be better off with Tenerife than Turkey. I know you wanted to explore the bazaars and the Hagia Sophia, but I mean, look at the deal on that!” Graham says, pointing to one of the pamphlets. “Just that for two weeks of sunning ourselves on a sunny beach, just sitting there, enjoying it, not watching the clock. I mean….”

“Love, let me get in the door will ya?” Grace says, putting a hand on her partner’s arm, giving him an exasperated but fond look.

“Oh, right, yeah.” Graham says with a small chuckle, and be slaps the pamphlets against the palm of his hand. “Just been comparin’ them all afternoon. I took the usuals across to Wadebridge this morning and then found myself at a loss for what to do. Oh, speaking of Wadebridge,” He turns to Yaz and gives her a proud smile. “Heard about that incident with that lad who were threatening the post office. Bleedin’ brave of ya, Yaz.”

Yaz shrugs, trying to play down Graham’s admiration. It is an action borne of having no need for praise rather than a belief that Yaz did not do a god job; she _knows_ she handled that incident to the best of her abilities. “Ah, his heart really wasn’t in it. Think he was confused as to who to target his aim at so picked the direct link he had to the corporation.”

“Corporation?” Graham asks, frowning.

“Amazon.” Yaz explained, and he makes an ‘o’ shape with his mouth as understanding dawns. “He’d lost his position there, got replaced by a machine. He’d got angry, I think, by their lack of explanation or compassion, which I can understand.” Everyone shrugs and nods in agreement, Grace caught sideways in the doorway listening to Yaz, Jo’s steady eyes on her. “But he was not using his anger in the right way. We managed to get him to see sense. Pretty sure he’s now organising an outcry against Amazon with some others in the same position through Twitter. Just as public, bit less stupid, and a lot less deadly.”

Grace shakes her head in amusement. “Poor kid. Sometimes wonder what this world is coming to.”

“Still, got people like Yaz looking out for it.” Graham says, pointing at her with a grin. “Makin’ sure those cheated by the big system get their voice heard and not pinned as a criminal.” He looks to Jo, nodding his head in Yaz’s direction. “Caught a lucky one there, Jo.”

“Oh, I know.” Jo says wistful, eyes as soft as caramel, as warm as a morning sun. Yaz returns it with her own just as blazing.

Grace’s gaze in on them, a motherly kind of fondness, and she pats Graham on the arm, gesturing they should head in. “We’ll leave you to your evening, girls.”

They bid Grace and Graham goodbye and stroll a little distance down the cobbled street to the cottage next door but one to the couple they see as pseudo-grandparents. It is hewn of rock and slate and has a deep blue door not dissimilar to the colour of Tardis books, perhaps a little more green, and small white windows inlaid in the frontage, with flowerpots lining their window ledges and garden wall. The front garden is messier than Grace and Graham’s, neither Yaz nor Jo are particularly keen on gardening, but the overgrown and wild quality is comforting in the way in which is seems to enclose their cottage, making it theirs, cut off from the rest, even though it is flanked by cottages on either side. A windchime tinkles delicate melody into the air, hanging by the door, and a seagull caws overhead, and Yaz finds herself so at peace; being greeted home by this every day is like a soothing balm for one’s soul.

Jo routes around for her key in her bag, muttering under her breath as it does not appear to her command, and Yaz takes the moment to look out over the view from their street. Beyond chimneypots and slanting slate roofs the sea surges and waves crest and peak against rocks and from this distance they are not threatening, just fascinating. A piece of the beach pokes just beyond the houses below, a yellow silken cloth draping sewn into the tapestry view. If Yaz cranes her neck, she can see Bill’s cottage, stone structure standing proudly on its own, wisteria climbing up it, small pin pricks of lavender thread on the fabric.

“I wish this door would just open when I… snapped my fingers, or something.” Jo grumbles, still routing around in her bag, when finally, with a triumphant ‘aha!’ she pulls the key from her bag and shoves it in the lock, twisting until the door opens.

The familiar smell of _home,_ their home, greets Yaz as they walk through the door, Yaz kicking the door shut gently with her foot until the lock clicks. She hangs her bag from one of the pegs by the door, and kicks off her shoes, Jo doing the same beside her; they are not overtly bothered by keeping things neat, which is not to say their place is messy, there is just an odd sort of orderliness to their clutter.

Yaz sighs, running a hand over her top and smoothing it down, watching as Jo pads through their front sitting room and into the kitchen. The cottage is small, but not claustrophobic, and the clutter makes it cosy, not crowded; Yaz might say that it is bigger from the inside, filled with all their things it represents their lives apart and together and the future they have. The front door opens directly onto the sitting room, with a staircase to the right leading upstairs. The sitting room is furnished with Jo’s cushy purple sofa, another armchair opposite, a soft Persian rug draped on the floor, and the walls are dotted with pictures done by local artists, and two bookshelves rest against the wall either side of the fireplace, filled to the brim with all of Jo’s books as Yaz’s own collection which she had built up last year. The feature of the room is a fireplace, and upon that feature Yaz and Jo in turn have featured upon its mantlepiece many photos, predominantly ones of the two of them together. They have the first selfie they took together at Kynance Cove, and alongside that many other selfies of them at various different places; when Jo and Yaz can find the time, they head off travelling, by rail, by road, now Jo is much better at managing car journeys, adventuring to new places and having new experiences with each other.

The other photos are of Yaz and her family, one of Amy, Rory, and Jo, and finally one of River, which stands proudly amongst the others, just as important. They are the testimony to their lives, the visual reminder of all they have and all that is still with them, even when they are lost.

The sitting room leads through to their small kitchen, attached to which is a small conservatory which currently possesses a telescope Yaz had bought Jo for her birthday. Their small garden can be reached through the conservatory, and similarly to the front garden the green patch of grass is bordered by wildflowers and ivy crawling and creeping in slate wall.

Yaz pads through into said kitchen after Jo, collecting two mugs from one of the cupboards as the other woman fills up the kettle. Yaz glances to the calendar on their wall as she does so, reading through their plans for the month ahead of them: Jo has an appointment at Exeter University in two weeks’ time, and Yaz knows she is slightly nervous but confident in her decision to move forward with their offer for her to guest lecture when the new semester starts; a professor within the astrophysics department had contacted her after reading her book, and Yaz knows it was a huge confidence boost for the other woman and was helping her slowly build back her love for the subject she had used to teach. Yaz’s eyes trail across the page, and she places the mugs down on the counter with a _clink_ and steps forward to hold the page between her fingers, squinting in confusion at what is written in the next week’s line.

“Jo?”

“Hmm?” The other woman says, switching the kettle on to boil.

“Why is Wilf going to be ‘slaying the Saxons’ next Wednesday?” Yaz asks, and Jo frowns, stepping forward to lean close and read where she has written ‘Wilf slaying the Saxons’ in her scrawling handwriting on the calendar. Her eyebrows raise and she makes an ‘o’ sound of realisation, followed swiftly by a laugh.

“Oh right. I was thinking about the King Arthur section of the book when I wrote that. Must have got distracted.”

Yaz shakes her head in fond exasperation, and Jo shrugs, heading towards the fridge and pulling the door open, taking out the milk. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” She says. Wilf has visited them a couple of times since Jo has kept up correspondence with the older man since their trip to Penzance, and with Donna being in close contact with Yaz, they have been able to arrange for him to visit both her and her Shaun as well as Jo and Yaz in Kennock Cove when he makes the journey north to visit. His visits consist mainly of him and Jo spouting out conspiracies and theories about space and space travel, but Yaz does not mind sitting back and watching them talk, she knows Wilf has become extremely important to Jo; he is like a grandfather- well, second grandfather… Grace and Graham are their pseudo-grandparents first and foremost. Besides, it has helped her and Donna grow closer together, jokingly complaining about Jo and Wilf in their turn.

Yaz laughs, turning towards the sitting room. “I’m going to take a shower. Can you order the pizza?” Jo gives her a thumbs up with her spare hand, accidentally spilling the milk all over the counter with the other.

It is short work for Yaz to climb the staircase to the second floor, and even shorter work for her to beginning shrugging off her clothing, pulling off her shirt and shimmying off her shorts as she walks into their bedroom, underwear soon following into the small laundry basket which sits in the corner of their room next to the chest of drawers. Their room is, Yaz has to admit, her favourite room in the house. The double bed fills most of the space, white wooden headboard and pale grey sheets embroidered with small subtle silvery stars. Yaz is strangely fond of the bedside tables which sit on _their_ respective sides, their things cluttering the tops, most predominantly the photographs they took of each other on their first trip out, when they had stopped at King Arthur’s Tomb; it looks domestic, homely, a designation of how they have made their life together and are living it at their own rhythm. There is a small window seat with padded cushion, and their view looks out over the ocean beyond. Yaz loves it in here, has made many fond memories in these four walls, all _sorts_ of fond memories.

Yaz pads out of their room and next door to their bathroom, complete with all the necessary amenities, and switches on the shower and steps into the bathtub, immersing herself under the spray. It feels good to wash off a day’s worth of the dinghy and the uniform, and Yaz feels her muscles relaxing in the soothing soak.

She is taken by surprise when the door creaks open and another pair of feet climb into the tub behind her, arms wrapping around her middle, a chin resting on her shoulder. Yaz smiles, knowing without opening her eyes who is behind her.

“I thought you were making tea and ordering pizza?” Yaz asks as Jo presses a kiss to her shoulder, and then another, and then another.

“The tea is brewing, the pizza is…. less important than this.” Jo replies, and Yaz scoffs, running a hand up Jo’s arm, tracing the skin, the droplets of water clinging to the soft hairs.

“You tell that to my stomach. I’ve been on a boat all day.”

“And I’ve been missing you all day.” Jo replies, her lips beginning to trail their way long Yaz’s shoulder towards her neck. Yaz snorts but does not complain, and Jo hums, lips settling at the crook between neck and shoulder. “You remember the time I helped you take your bikini off in the bathroom?” She asks with desire spicing her tone.

“How could I forget?” Yaz remarks, leaning into the other woman’s touch, letting her head tip back until it rests on Jo’s shoulder, baring her neck to the other woman’s lips. Jo presses gentle kisses along the delicate skin, and Yaz’s breath hitches when she caresses her pulse point with her lips, hands beginning to wander southwards. Yaz allows herself to melt into it, leaning back into Jo’s embrace. She pauses when she feels…

“Jo?”

“Hmmm?” Jo says against her neck, breath warm.

“You’re still wearing clothes.” 

“Oh, shit!” Jo exclaims, breaking away from Yaz and taking a step back. Yaz turns around, unable to stifle the giggles bubbling up in her at the sight of Jo, trousers and shirt completely sodden, blonde hair frizzed and damp, looking down at herself with palms up to the sky, completely bemused.

“How do you forget that?” Yaz asks her.

Jo shrugs, shaking her head, but Yaz can see the irritation fading away and amusement taking over, and her cheeky smile turns her lips upwards. “It was the thought of you, Yaz. I forget everything else when I think of you.”

“Oh, you great sop.” Yaz says fondly, but she steps forwards and undoes the button and fly of Jo’s trousers, smirk on her lips. “Get undressed. We’re going to burn those custard creams off before pizza.”

“Oh, okay….” Jo says shakily, fidgety hands scrambling to pulls her t-shirt up and over her head. Once she is similarly de-clothed to Yaz, almost falling with only Yaz’s firm grip to keep her steady as she tries to kick off her trousers, Yaz curls into her, pressing their lips together, moving them backwards until Jo’s back hits the wall behind the tub, Yaz pushing her up against it. Jo shivers.

“Oh, the wall’s cold.” She mumbles against Yaz’s lips.

“Don’t worry.” Yaz says, as her hands travel southwards, and her lips begin to press a rhythm of love all over Jo’s skin. “I’ll warm you up.” 

* * *

Yaz is woken by a cold breeze which drifts against her side, and she groans, rolling onto her side in bed, hand instinctively reaching out across the covers. She pauses when she does not find the warm body she expects to find, and she blinks bleary eyes open, searching the darkened room; it must be the middle of the night. Her gaze eventually lands on the woman sat on the window seat, peering out at the world outside through half-closed curtains, knees drawn to her chest.

Yaz raises herself up onto her elbows, letting out a long sigh as she summons wakefulness out of the last dredges of sleep. She peers behind her at the clock on her bedside table: _03:13._

Frowning, Yaz pulls back the duvet and swings her legs out of bed, muscles sore and protesting, but she pushes on, and stands, padding around the bed, trying to make enough noise to alert Jo to her presence, but not enough to scare her. When she reaches the window seat, she perches on the edge, facing her partner.

“Jo? You alright?” She asks, soft voice breaking the silence like a knife to smooth butter.

“Hmm?” Jo says, dragging her eyes away from the view outside to Yaz. The stars, Yaz realises. She was looking at the stars. “Oh, bad dream. You know how it goes.”

Yaz nods. She does. Months of working on their relationship and how they communicate and neither woman is afraid to admit when she is feeling down and what she wants from the other, be it anything at all. They balance their natural affection and adoration for each other with a regard and understanding for each other as individuals which means that as a couple they are tightly bound, that invisible thread unbreakable, made from the fine fibre of love and respect.

Nightmares are expected, from both of them, Yaz dreaming of a man who no longer shapes how she values herself but still shadows her dreams at times, and Jo by the trauma of the car crash which had changed her life. They are recovering, they are better, but they are also human, and fallible and vulnerable, but with each other’s support, those rocky waves which threaten the soothing current of their tide are soon quelled. Their little boat bobs on.

“Just needed a moment.” Jo explains, shooting Yaz a tired smile. Twelve months on and she still talks to Sarah-Jane, although not half as much as she used to need to; the woman is more friend, now, than therapist, sharing Jo’s interests in aliens, just as Wilf does. Jo sees someone else, another woman Martha was able to put them in contact with, for help with the issues relating to her childhood, and she has shared stories and tales with Yaz, feeling able to talk about them now, finding it easier. Yaz’s affection for her has grown stronger with every difficult conversation and the trust they represent, something she had not thought possible. In turn, Jo is there every time Yaz has a hard day, or every time her own nightmares wake her; Yaz had not realised how much easier everything would be to deal with with someone else by her side, although, knowing Jo and living with her, it does not surprise her that with Jo it comes as easy as breathing.

Everything seems to.

“Do you want me to go back to bed?” Yaz asks, reaching for Jo’s hand, which she takes, curling cold fingers around Yaz’s own. Jo shakes her head.

“No. Stay. Please.”

Yaz smiles and nods, settling further back onto the window seat, swinging her legs up so that she is mirroring her partner’s position, their joined hands resting between them as they both stare out at the night sky. Yaz knows the constellations now, knows their name and their shape, and she spots it, there, above them: Eridanus. The river.

That reminds Yaz of something, something which sits in her bedside cabinet drawer, something she was going to give Jo in the daylight, but which…. Well, there is no reason not to give it to her now.

“Hang on.” She says, swinging her legs off the window seat and moving around the bed to her side, rummaging in the drawer.

“Yaz?” Jo asks, curiosity tinging her tone.

“Ah!” Yaz says as she finds what she is looking for in the gloom of night, pulling out the small green box and walking back over to the window seat, diverting just long enough to switch the bedside light on Jo’s side on before she settles opposite her partner again.

“What’s that?” Jo asks her, pulling her legs down from her chest and crossing them.

“So, you know how it’s the first anniversary of when we went to see this cottage tomorrow? Well, today.” Yaz says, a little breathless from her quick expedition. “When we knew it was perfect for us, was going to be our home?”

Jo nods, but does not say anything, and Yaz holds the box out to her to take, which she does, thumb running over the clasp.

“Well, I thought it’d be nice to get something to commemorate it, and the lady in the village who does the jewellery, well, I saw some products in her shop window which I really liked so… I commissioned her to make something for you.”

“Yaz…” Jo says, surprise seeping into her tone, her voice breaking a little with emotion.

“Go on, open it.” Yaz says, suddenly nervous and excited, shuffling forwards on the window seat a little.

Jo unclasps the latch and opens the box with a small creak of the hinges. When her eyes set sight on what is inside, she gasps. “Yaz, it’s beautiful…”

Jo gently picks up the small piece of jewellery resting inside, laying it on her palm as she examines it with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape. Yaz herself has to admit that the jeweller has done an excellent job, and that it is worth every penny she spent on it.

A sliver hand clasps its golden partner, forming the earring part of the jewellery, connected to a chain which runs up to an ear cuff shaped into small silver stars. Jo enjoys wearing earrings, and the silver will match their necklaces from the Rocky Valley, which both of them still wear around their necks. Yaz’s hand instinctively comes up to fiddle with hers as she watches Jo admire her gift.

“It’s… well, the hands, they represent us.” Yaz explains, pointing with her free hand to the beautifully crafted hands. “And then the chain, that connects to the stars, and they represent-”

“River.” Jo finishes for her, eyes glistening. “They represent River.”

Yaz nods. “I thought it would be nice for you to have something on you, something tangible, that would commemorate this day, but also… River, and your past, but also our future, too. And how they’re linked, and how they can work together.”

Yaz knows she does not need to remind Jo that she will always respect River’s place in her life, the picture downstairs is demonstrative enough of that, the history of their relationship is demonstrative of that, but rather this jewellery piece is representative of how far Jo has come, how far they both have come, since those early days of indecision; to wear this upon her ear is a commemoration, an ownership of the events and people who have shaped her and how she, like Yaz, is coming to own both the light and the dark inside of her.

Jo nods, sniffing, and Yaz settles back, giving her a moment to process. Eventually Jo’s free hand finds hers and squeezes tightly.

“It’s beautiful.” She says. “Thank you.”

She leans forward, capturing Yaz’s lips in a gentle, grateful kiss, the earring cradled in her palm. “I love you.” She whispers against Yaz’s lips when they break apart.

“I love you too.” Yaz whispers back.

“I haven’t gotten you anything!” Jo says, upset, when they both lean back a little, still incredibly close; Yaz can count the small freckles on Jo’s face.

“That’s alright.” Yaz assures her, and she shuffles onto her knees, wrapping her arms around Jo’s neck. “I don’t want anything. I have all I need here. This house, you, the life we’ve made together… that is greatest anniversary gift I could ever want.”

Jo pulls her into a deep and passionate kiss, dipping them below the surface of each other’s love. “It is for me too. I love the earring, but what we have here, Yaz…. This is the best gift in the world. More than I ever thought I-” She breaks off, tears glittering in her eyes, like little drops of honey in the warm glow of the table lamp. Full of sweet and strong emotion like the nectar of her feelings.

“Hey, come on, we get soppy at three in the morning you know we’re not getting any sleep.” Yaz says lightly and Jo laughs, running her fingers through Yaz’s hair. Her eyes suddenly widen, then, and Yaz can see a mischievous glint in them.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” 

* * *

“This is a stupid idea.” Yaz remarks, shivering in her swimming costume as Jo leads her from damp sand into the shallows, cold sea water caressing her ankles.

“I know! That’s what makes it so brilliant!” Jo exclaims, shivering just as much as Yaz but throwing her arms excitedly in the air. Her blonde hair looks silvery in the moonlight, and Yaz gets caught up in watching her paddling into an ocean shot through with the quicksilver of the moon, the way the illumination makes her look ethereal, a being not of this world. Forever young. Timeless.

“Why are you staring at me?” The being asks. Yaz shakes herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she cautiously follows Jo further into the ocean.

“Just figuring out why I decided to fall in love with someone who thinks dips in the ocean at three in the morning are a good idea.” Yaz remarks sarcastically. In all honesty she is not actually annoyed, and whilst the waters are chilly, they are calm, safe enough for them to swim out into. Besides, she is trained, now, in saving lives at sea. And it would not be her first time.

Jo scoffs. “It was supposed to be spontaneous, supposed to wake us up and make us feel… alive! And it’s not three in the morning… it’s more like four now.”

Yaz cocks an eyebrow at her, but she lets Jo grab her and pull her further into the water, and when the other woman loses her footing and goes sploshing down under the waves with a small shout, Yaz is dragged down with her and encased in chilly water. It sinks over her head and weighs down her hair, but Yaz suddenly feels weightless, possibly owing to the shock of ice-like water, and she allows herself to float towards the surface once more. Jo comes up, spluttering slightly next to her.

“Don’t tell me this wasn’t a good idea!” She says, wading closer to Yaz and finding her hands under the water.

“It’s very… you.” Yaz remarks, still putting up her front of slight annoyance, even though it is fading with every second they spend wading in the water.

“Oh, you like it just as much as I do.” Jo retorts good naturedly. “We both love adventures. This is another adventure.”

Yaz sighs and allows a small smile to creep onto her lips. The water is becoming more bearable now as her body adjusts, and she can see Jo knows she has won this victory as she gives Yaz a goofy, triumphant smile. “Alright. You got me.”

“And apparently swimming in the sea is _very_ good for you.” Jo says suggestively, leaning in to capture Yaz in a rather wet and salty kiss.

“Good if you want to get hypothermia.” Yaz quips lightly, and Jo rolls her eyes, pulling them closer together until Yaz’s arms are wrapped around her neck, Jo’s hands resting on her hips.

“I didn’t bring us out here just so we could have some fun, though, I…” Jo looks around, her eyes raking the sea around them, and with wonder and a wistful note in her voice she says, “Just look, Yaz, look around us.”

And so Yaz does.

And then she understands why Jo thought this would be a good idea.

The stars reflect in the water which they swim in, which captures them in its gentle hold, small fragments of glittering light like shards of glass; with how weightless they feel, floating in the water in each other’s arms, it is like they are floating amongst the stars, in the universe.

“Your gift represented _my_ life, River’s life, and our life, together. And this,” Jo says, pushing off from Yaz to throw her arms through the starlit water. “This represents how… hopeful you have made me feel. How…” She swims back to Yaz, replacing her hold on her hips. “Limitless.”

Yaz smiles, looking around her; she cannot see where the sea ends and the sky begins, and it is like they are drifting in eternity. The sea stretches as far as the stars and the stars… well, they could take them anywhere. Any adventure they want, any possibility they want, and they would be doing so, together.

“This is to all the places we’ve been, to all those we might go. To all the things we’ve gone through, and the things to come. This is to our home, together, _here_ ,” Jo’s arm sweeps to behind them, to where the village of Kennock Cove sits in shadow, as if bowing to the performance of the stars around them. Her arm moves to skirt across the sky before her hand settles back on Yaz’s hip. “And here. _This_ is what you have given me, Yaz. You’ve given me endless possibilities. You’ve given me the belief in myself to be… more than I always thought I was. More than what I used to think of myself. I’m loved by the most amazing woman in the universe. How could I not feel limitless?”

Yaz takes in a steadying breath as she feels Jo’s words sink into her, under her skin, warming her up from the inside out. She trails a hand into Jo’s hair, catching quicksilver gold between her fingers.

“You told me, on our first proper date, that you would show me the universe if you could.” Yaz replies, and Jo watches her with eyes reflecting a multitude of stars. “Safe to say you’ve done that. Not just here, now, but… in the everyday as well. In everything we do together, every moment I spend with you, it’s like I’m seeing the wonders of the universe, over and over again. And I’ve never gotten tired of it. Will never get tired of it. I want to continue to be with you. Forever.”

The stars in Jo’s eyes blend like watercolours, melting together in the tears that swim in them. She smiles widely, teary eyes trailing all over Yaz’s face until they come to rest on Yaz’s eyes, and find connection with the tears that swim in hers, too.

“This is the best idea I’ve had, right? This beats that really dark mining shaft we went down?” Jo asks her, and Yaz laughs, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s perfect. I love it. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Yasmin Khan.” Jo says, and she pulls her into another kiss lit by starlight, as they embrace and are embraced by the ocean in their turn. Calm waters surrounding them. The tide slowly rising and carrying them higher and higher.

Yaz really could stay here forever.

“Can we go back inside now?” Jo asks her when they break apart. “This was great but now I’m absolutely freezing!”

Yaz laughs, taking her partner’s hand and slowly propelling them in the direction of the shore. 

“Come on.” She says. “Let’s go home.” 

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *long sigh* and we're done.   
> There are some things i just want to say here now that we are finished after five months with Jo and Yaz...  
> This story has meant more to me than I could ever have realised when i started writing it. it was originally something to help me through lockdown and to express my feelings in a way i was comfortable with, but along the way i have met and talked with so many people. And so whilst the story has got me through this year and the challenges it's thrown me (and all of us), you guys have too. Every single comment, chatting with you on Twitter and elsewhere, knowing there were people out there enjoying what i put my heart and soul into and encouraging me and supporting me is more than i could have thought would happen when i first started posting! I cannot thank you enough for your support, for reading, for reaching out to me. I am so sad we have come to the end, but am so proud of the fact we have. But.... this is not the last of Yaz and Jo.
> 
> I've mentioned it before but just wanna say it here again that I am doing a one-shot series to accompany this: missing scenes, different perspectives, glimpses of the past and future- if you're interested, keep a close eye out in the coming weeks 😉
> 
> Anyway, I've wittered on, but I cannot believe we're at the end and it's with reluctance and sadness but a f**k tonne of pride I say farewell to this story- thank you so much, once again, for coming with me, and with Yaz and Jo, on this journey. 
> 
> Walkerlister ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment and/or kudos if you are so inclined, as I greatly appreciate those! 'Kennock' is a derivative for the Cornish word for 'rock', as far as i understand it- although, I do not speak Cornish! In the case that it isn't- I've made it up! 
> 
> This work was inspired by so many of the thasmin AU's I have enjoyed on Ao3, and so i dedicate it to those writers, whose work i have enjoyed so much!


End file.
